


Optica Eterna

by MistressOfMalplaquet



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Blackfrost - Freeform, Brainwashing, Cats Are Cool, Complete, F/M, Freya - Freeform, Loki is still a pain in the butt, Psychological Torture, Slow Build, Snow White - Freeform, Stockholm Syndrome, genderbent, natasha is a bamf, no magic, poison apple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-01-25 00:51:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 54,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1623071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressOfMalplaquet/pseuds/MistressOfMalplaquet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the new queen orders Natasha to deliver Loki's heart, the huntress is torn between duty and her own heart. A genderbent version of the fairy tale (because Loki, with his white skin and black hair, makes a perfect Snow White) from a prompt by my friend the-coldness-from-within on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dark Shadow

****

**1\. Dark Shadow**

* * *

The messenger told Natasha she had to come directly to court, and so she had no time to change or even wash. As a result, after a hurried ride from her forest the huntress stood, still wearing her leathers, at the back of a crowd in the throne room. She lurked behind two countesses glorious in gilded finery, not wanting anyone to see her.

"What have you gifted the new queen?" The question came from the lady on the left; she had dark skin and hair so fine it looked like moonlit water.

"Two baby monkeys and an ell of silk banded with opals and gold. She managed to catch the king's eye quickly enough, wouldn't you say?" The speaker tossed gold curls off her shoulder and the action caused her to brush against Natasha's legs; the young countess looked at the huntress, frowned, and twitched the purple brocade of her skirts away.

Natasha checked a sigh and longed for a bath. When the visit to the palace was concluded at last, she planned to ride to the stream near her hut and swim under the stars with no thoughts of fashion, manners, or possible suitors. The huntress couldn't afford the first, grew impatient at the next, and longed to slash the last with her sword.

A door at the far end of the massive throne room opened, and the crowd jostled forward as one massive creature in the usual manner of throngs. Natasha was able to slip further to the back, a position that suited her perfectly – there she was able to observe not only the main actors of the little piece about to unfold on the raised dais but also the audience goggling from the floor.

King Odin appeared first and took his throne. He looked haggard, careworn; marketplace gossip had it he had never truly recovered from the death of his first wife. Even Natasha still felt Frigga's loss keenly, although she had never known her personally. The Queen had been well-loved within and outside of the palace; it was difficult to believe her kind, intelligent face would never be seen in Asgard again.

The king beckoned, and the doors opened again. Natasha felt a rush of interest go through the assembled courtiers, and the young countess with gold ringlets stood on tiptoe to get a better look at the new queen.

Queen Lorelei she was now, and that was all anyone knew of her. The woman had arrived from a foreign land as claimant for Odin's hand in marriage; five months later they were engaged.

The young queen entered, her chin held high. She sat next to Odin, and very strange it was to see someone other than Frigga in that chair. Natasha remembered meeting the former queen when she was a girl; the woman struck her instantly with her low-pitched voice and air of calm authority.

Queen Lorelei was much more difficult to read. She turned to her husband, accepted his words of welcome and introduction, and inclined her head sharply as a sign she accepted the position as his wife and ruler of the court.

The woman was lovely; her perfect oval face put even the golden countess to shame. Long chestnut braids framed high cheekbones and a wide-set gaze; she smiled at something Odin murmured to reveal teeth like matched pearls. Delicate pink suffused her cheeks when he took her hand in his. In short, she was perfect.

However, as she stood and delivered a charming speech thanking all in the palace for her welcome, Natasha felt a shudder wriggled down her spine. Looking at the new queen was like watching a snake grow arms and legs, a little jeweled serpent who stunned with its beauty before sinking poisonous fangs into soft flesh…

Natasha gave herself a thorough shake to rid her mind of the disturbing image. She had spent all day among the trees near the lake trying to rout out a  _draugr_  in a silted lake, and perhaps her efforts had made her tired and dreamy as a result. Still, she desperately wanted to escape the crowded throne room; she had no idea why she had been summoned in the first place. Perhaps nobody would notice if she crept into the hall and caught her breath.

The guards stared ahead as she slipped outside into a silent passage lined with archways, and hurriedly she stole through one. She emerged in a long chamber lined with paintings, full-length portraits of the king, the former queen, and their two sons.

She, however, didn't notice the tell paintings of royalty in ornate clothes. Her attention was caught instead by a pile of books on low table wrought in gold; instantly Natasha forgot the reptilian queen and the supercilious crowd. She stole forward and couldn't resist running one fingertip down the back of one volume worked in tooled leather; the title was picked out in silver letters: Ragnarsdrápa. Skaldic verse was one of her favorite things to read, and Natasha couldn't resist taking down the book from the shelf, opening the heavy cover, and turning to the first page. Her lips moved with the familiar words; "Battle is called Storm…"

"What are you doing in here?" The voice, so loud and filled with fury, made Natasha start. Quickly she covered her surprise and turned to see who had interrupted her.

By the Gods, it was the young Prince himself. Instantly she fell into a deep curtsy (very difficult to achieve in leathers) and bowed her head to look at the toes of her mud-splattered boots. "My apologies, your Highness. I grew faint in the crowd and came here to regain my breath in the fresh air."

"Nonsense." Prince Loki, a pale figure in silver and black, strode forward to grasp her chin and tilt it up as he flicked his gaze over her. "You aren't the type to 'grow faint', as you put it – as a matter of fact, you don't look the type to be here at all." With a sudden movement he released her. "Are you an intruder?"

At that Natasha lost her temper. "A messenger came to my house to fetch me at once, and as a result I had no time for bathing or fine clothes. I make my living hunting game in my woods, and thus you must excuse my dust." She folded her arms, quite prepared to continue the argument if he insisted.

But instead Loki's lips quivered, and he indicated the book in her hand. "Behold an original! A woman in breeches who seems to enjoy tales of war on the side. 'And that baleful Witch of Women, Wasting the fruits of victory, Took governance on the island…'"

Natasha grinned; she loved that passage. "…All the Ship-King's war-host Went wrathful 'neath the firm shields.'"

Loki stabbed the air in the direction of the throne-room. "The lines are fateful, are they not? It seems to me the Witch of Women is now holding the fruits of victory in her soft hands, and they were handed to her willingly by my father." His eyes grew hard as chips of glass.

The door to the passage was still open; Natasha quickly went to the arch and closed it. "My prince, these words are dangerous should they fall on the wrong ears," she murmured. "Although the guards may not understand the lines we quoth to each other just now, any serpent may slither in hidden corners and suspect treachery where there is none."

"Serpent," he repeated. With another of his sudden movements, Loki seized her wrist in his long fingers. "Why do you describe danger thus, I wonder?"

They stared at each other, and something hung between them. Perhaps it was his desire to find someone who understood, Natasha reflected; obviously the prince trusted the new queen no more than she did. Moreover the court gossips told of his overwhelming sorrow when Frigga was killed; to lose a parent was heartbreaking, and to see another in their place unforgivable. When that place was the throne, the sensation had to be that of poison on a sharp tooth under the skin.

However, she was a huntress and he was a prince. Their situations yawned between them like a gulf.

Her lips parted to give a sensible answer, one hiding her true thoughts, but impatiently Loki waved away her unspoken words. "Do not attempt to hide behind etiquette and morality," he hissed. "By my troth, I nearly stifled on the atmosphere in the throne room – all those courtiers goggling and jostling to be the first to get into Lorelei's good books."

His statement, a reflection of her own feelings, made Natasha gasp. "But I experienced the same!" she couldn't help saying. "It's why I ran here - I was choking for lack of air." He nodded, and she was emboldened to continue. "The books intrigued me, and I simply had to take a look – for this I beg your forgiveness." She handed Ragnarsdrápa to the prince and made as if to leave, certain she had fulfilled her duty to the royal messenger who fetched her to the court in the first place.

Loki detained her by tightening his grasp on her wrist. "Do not go just yet," he ordered. "The entire palace is filled with jesters and gape-harlequins. To meet someone who has a mind of her own is like breathing the fresh mist of the forest. If I may borrow your own analogy?"

Natasha felt her face dimple with irrepressible humor. "You may."

A tiny tug pulled her closer to his side. "And do I exaggerate if I guess you feel Queen Frigga's loss as keenly as I do?"

She stared into his eyes, so close she could see her own face inside his pupils as a dark shadow. "Frigga was…" A block of salt seemed to get stuck in her throat, and she couldn't finish.

The tiny reflections of her face wavered in his pupils, and abruptly he let her go. "Yes, she was. And so much more – you have no idea. In a topsy-turvy world spinning around me, she was the core."

 _And now she is gone._  Natasha didn't speak the words; Prince Loki looked close to breaking point, try as he might to present a calm front. "Are these books from her library?" she hazarded.

The question earned her a small sign of humor, a mere curve of his lips. "Why, yes, they are. Many evenings we sat together, and she taught me her lore or read her favorite books – she loved Ragnarsdrápa as well, Huntress." A slight frown creased his brow, and he blurted, "What is your name?"

"Natasha Romanov, my prince."

"Ah, I have it now. The ward of Ivan Petrovitch, no?"

"Just so." The thought of Ivan tossing with fever in a hospital a few leagues hence, make her chest burn. Her guardian, so gentle and dear, had to get better – he simply  _had_ to. No need, she thought, to tell that to the prince – it was her own business. Hers and Ivan's.

"And thus you earn your porridge? By setting traps and selling the skins?"

"Not only that." Natasha flung back her head; he was the taller by several handspans, and she wanted to keep her dignity despite the muddy leathers. "Sometimes I am hired to dispatch an errant bilgesnipe. This very day I went in search of a draugr in the lake."

"And did you ensnare him?" The prince seemed fascinated.

"It was a female, Highness. Alas, she was more slippery than I bargained. Tomorrow brings another day of schemes to win the creature into my nets. It has already stolen several children and the livelihood of the village already, so I suppose this quest has become a personal challenge."

His head dipped lower as if to catch each word. "Yours must be an existence fraught with danger – perilous and exciting at once."

"Exactly." Natasha allowed her eyes to flash with the passion she felt for her trade. "Indeed I could never be a miller or brewer, each day the same as the next with only the passage of seasons to make life different."

Prince Loki laughed, a deep-noted chuckle resonating in her very bones. "No, I could hardly imagine you atop a windmill heaving sacks of flour to market. But what of reading, huntress? What of that?"

"It is my second life," Natasha admitted. "Although danger is my lot, it will be spent in the boundaries of Ivan's woods. The pages of stories such as this bring me to new realms and keep me satisfied." She held out Ragnarsdrápa once more, and he took one end so they both held the book between them. For a moment, it embodied a new bond.

"What of adventure, then? Suppose you had the chance to sail on a blood-red sea and never look back?"

"Why, I should run with open arms to the opportunity, should it ever arise and I were free to pursue it. But of course it will not, and so I content myself with my little hut, Ivan's forest, and the few books I do own." She pushed the book into his hand and stepped back; it was time to put some space between her and the young prince.

Perhaps it was already too late; as if he had become the pursuer, Prince Loki closed the gap once more; she felt his breath fan her cheek as he whispered, "You are more like me than I ever could have imagined. So long I have been alone, it nearly unmans me to think I could find a …"

The door to the library opened with a crash. One guard stood in the arch; he stood aside and bowed.

Lorelei, the new queen, wafted past the man into the room. "There you are," she trilled. "Huntress, I sent for you. Come to my chambers now so you may attend me."

Without waiting for assent, she left the room. Her ermine-trimmed cloak swirled after her; ambergris perfume hung in the air even when she was gone.

Prince Loki's eyes narrowed, and his expression grew hard. "I see," he declared. "By the Gods, you are the finest hunter it has ever been my privilege to meet! Still, you'll not have me as tonight's catch in your little trap. Enjoy meeting the new queen."

"Prince, I had no idea she wanted my presence," Natasha tried to protest. However, it was already too late. He strode out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

She was left alone, surrounded by ancient tales and lost loves pressed into the pages of forgotten volumes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to bodee-nyx for the lovely blackfrost graphic and for allowing me to use it for this fiction.


	2. Stream Filled with Stars

A stern guard chivvied her up several flights of gilded stairs to a huge set of chambers now inhabited by the new queen. Natasha got the impression she was supposed to be overwhelmed by luxury and beauty; she played it up, therefore, keeping her gaze lowered and her voice humble with awe as she greeted the queen. Blending in with Lorelei's admirers would be good camouflage, Natasha thought.

Queen Lorelei stood beside a tapestry the size of a small playing field hanging from rings on a long pole; one corner fluttered down as the huntress entered.  _Did it cover something?_  Natasha wondered. Years of learning to read small signs in the woods, observe a prey's actions, let her see the queen was hiding a secret. Natasha's rampant curiosity made her want to investigate what lay behind the tapestry and Queen Lorelei's forced calm, but of course it was impossible.

"They say you can take down any enemy you face," the Queen stated. There was no return greeting, no polite exchange. "Is this true?"

"I had the honor of slaying the Whyte Wyrm of Kynance," Natasha replied. "The dragon's scourge ended when I slew the beast and freed the village."

"What jobs will you accept?" The Queen paced a few steps before sitting in a carved chair in a swirl of skirts. "Any you can find, or do you pick and choose?"

"My fee is high, and some work can be done by lesser hunters. Rather than cheat money from my clients' pockets, I inform them if the job is worth my dues."

"I see." Lorelei snapped her fingers, and an elegant maid scurried forward with a hand mirror and a pot of lip rouge; the queen studied her face from several angles. Natasha checked a sigh and wished she could leave the palace and return to her tiny cottage. The entire trip, after Prince Loki's bad temper and the Queen's studied arrogance, had been ill-advised.

The queen dropped the mirror onto a cluttered dressing table. "Are you discreet?"

"Of course." The question piqued Natasha's pride. She waited, but the queen merely picked up a gold brush and started applying some substance to her eyelashes. "Did you want to hire me?" she asked.

"Not today." Lorelei blew on the brush, snapped her fingers once more, and told the maid she wanted wine.

Natasha decided to take that as dismissal and strode out of the room.

* * *

 

The first few stars were already out by the time she reached her cottage. Of course, the woods were always dim, and whenever Natasha left the constant darkness of the old trees she was dazzled by sunlight. With a sigh of relief she entered her little house, slipped out of her leathers, and hung them to air out. Her belly grumbled, but she decided to have a bath before she ate; her skin was sticky with sweat from the long day spent among royal company.

There was a flat tin bath under her bed, but Natasha decided steal to the stream for a night swim. No one would see her, and she could return before the moons were full in the sky.

She wrapped a linen towel around her as a shift, padded across the moss to a tiny rock pool her stepfather had made during his years in the forest and climbed in. It was cold enough to make her teeth chatter, but the sensation was invigorating. After so much time in crowded throne rooms and negotiations with royalty, the brisk temperature of the water cleared her head. Natasha dunked her head under, blew out a stream of water, and floated on the surface. Through the leafy boughs of the trees above she could see the stars and moons wheel overhead, and their reflection surrounded her in the dark water. Drifting on the surface was like flying between two worlds.

A leaf fell into the stream, dappling the reflection. She started up, her heart pounding – a distant footstep or horse's hoof could have caused it. Silently she glided out of the water, picked up the towel, and tiptoed back to her cottage. It would be a bore to get caught in the middle of the woods with nothing on, even though she could defend herself with her bare hands… still, such an encounter would raise all sorts of unwanted possibilities as well as revelations of her own little private space - not to mention her naked body.

The moss-covered stones were cold underfoot. Instinctively Natasha avoided a tiny toad out in the young night to catch a few errant nightwings before the forest descended into starry sleep. Silent as a moth, she opened the door and slipped inside her house.

The dark figure in front of the tiny hearth made her skitter to a stop, made the breath catch in her throat.

"What did Lorelei want with you, huntress?" Prince Loki never moved when he asked the question, nor did he turn around.

Natasha fisted the linen against her chest and smothered a curse. She wanted to eat some bread, climb into her bed and fall into a sleep black and silent as the woods, but instead she had to confront the prince's fury once more. She made her voice calm, hiding her own anger. "The Queen never said. She asked if I was good at my trade, if I was discreet. I told her I was the best available, and she dismissed me. I have the feeling I should be…"

"She is not the queen!" He threw a heavy object onto the ground near her feet and whirled to face her; Loki's eyes grew huge when he saw she wore nothing more than a towel tucked around her form.

"No, you are quite right. She is not the queen." She lifted her chin, refusing to feel ashamed. "If you would give me a few moments…?"

For one moment he thought he would lunge at her, hold her there, refuse to allow her to move. Loki's better nature seemed to take hold of him, and he held out one long arm in the direction of her bedchamber to sketch a mocking bow. "Of course."

* * *

 

Ivan had handed Natasha a few of her mother's things on the girl's sixteenth birthday; among them were a silver locket, an embroidered slipper case, and a long robe made of fine lawn. Natasha plucked the garment off the hook, tied the sash with a jerk, and paused to listen. Would Loki leave her tiny house and return to the palace?

Used to analyzing tiny sounds – even different types of silence – Natasha heard nothing. For one who was used to trapping and slaughtering her prey, the prince's ability to disappear was frustrating, even disconcerting.

"I am still here, Huntress," he called. It was as though he could see into her mind.

Natasha shuddered and reemerged into the main room. The fire in the hearth had burned down to a bed of orange coals, and she knelt to add a few knots of wood; Prince Loki looked down from his height and his severe expression seemed to soften for a moment. "Lorelei asked if you were discreet. The question implies she wants you for a secret quest." The prince extended his hand once more and helped her stand. The new wood popped slightly, and she used the sound to pretend to be startled as an excuse to move away from him.

The forest was utterly silent; her little house very isolated. It was the perfect setting for a seduction, and a smile lurking in Loki's eyes showed he had the same thought.

Natasha frowned and put her hands behind her back. "If she asks me for anything else – and I think she will - I could inform you. Is it easy to find you in such an immense castle?"

"Hm." He appeared to consider. "I can usually be found in the library."

"Is the place near where we spoke earlier?"

Again that glint of a smile. "Indeed, no. Frigga had a private salon with attached garden – she used to teach me there."

"Will the guards show me to the room, should we need to meet?"

"I shall advise them as such. Ask for Astrid – she has known me since I was a child."

"Very well."

It seemed there was no more to be said. Loki bowed once more. She felt both relief and regret as his slim, upright figure moved to the door; there he pushed the latch and hesitated. With a ironic smile he bent, picked up the object he had thrown earlier, and held it out to her. "I brought this for you to read, not to hurl at your feet. Forgive my bad manners, huntress."

The heat of the fire warmed the skin on Natasha's thighs as she took the gift, a copy of Ragnarsdrápa. The leather crackled against her thumb as she weighed it in one hand. "I cannot accept this," she protested.

"But you can. I saw the love in your eyes as you spoke the lines with me today, love for the words. You caressed them with your lips, tasted them with your tongue."

"As did you," Natasha couldn't help retorting. "And this is a loan, my prince. I will return it to you when we meet in your mother's library."

A sudden grin bared white teeth and rogue dimples. "I like that idea. And I can give you another tale in its place, one you have never read before."

"I'd like that as well." Natasha ran one finger down the spine of Ragnarsdrápa; as she did he shiveredred as though he could feel her nail sliding down his flesh. In truth she was glad to have the book, for she only had three others and had read them so often she knew them by heart. Natasha had Ragnarsdrápa by heart as well, but it would be good to see the words by candlelight and caress them on the page just as she did with her lips, according to the prince.

"One more thing."

"Yes?" She tilted back her head to look up at him, and he bent down so his mouth was right next to her ear.

"The flames in your hearth light betrayed you. When you stood on your hearth, I could see through your robe as though it didn't exist."

Natasha sucked in her breath to tell him off and demand he leave at once, but it was already too late. In a swirl of green cape, Prince Loki was gone.


	3. The Draugr

"I hear the huntress slew the Draugr handily, thus delivering the town. 'Tis said she skinned him and wears his leathers as a prize to remind us just how lethal she is."

Loki, idly sipping his wine and counting the moments until he could slip away, felt his ears prick up. Fandral had to be talking about Natasha; she had mentioned the Draugr as her next job. For a moment he allowed himself to imagine her in tight black leather breeches and stifled his inrush of breath the image caused.

Lorelei sat next to him, so closely her long sleeve lapped over his knee. "Are you quite well?" she asked, frowning slightly in what he supposed was concern.

"Quite well," Loki snapped.

"They say the battle was epic! Already the bards prepare lays in honor of the huntress." Fandral sighed in mock melancholy and allowed his gaze to soften in the direction of Natasha's forest. "She was actually here to visit the court – and I missed speaking with the maiden! Everyone is agog to meet her."

"She is a private person." Instantly Loki regretted the words, but the thought of anyone admiring Natasha made his blood boil.

"You have spoke with her, in that case?" Fandral's hooded eyes swept over the prince. "Was she fascinating?"

"I'm afraid we argued more than spoke."

"Ah!" The courtier grinned. "A girl with spirit, then – it bodes well for the bedchamber. I am tired of females who simper and rush to repaint their faces once I am done with them."

"You are a fool." Loki felt he would explode with rage. "Not everything is about the bedchamber."

"You could be right," Fandral drawled. "However I prefer my flirtations to lead to eventual pillow talk and sweet surrender." Perhaps he saw Loki's anger reflected in the prince's face; quickly he changed the subject. "Have you heard your brother returns from Midgard? Any day now he should arrive at the palace."

"That oaf!" Loki snorted. "Has he completed his quest so quickly?"

"I know not, but we will learn of it when he returns. Will you attend me if I have a gathering in his honor? A week hence, let us say? I can promise the finest wines, the most beautiful maidens…"

* * *

 

Having accepted the invitation, Loki slouched away to Frigga's library. He felt he had given up more information than he had learned, and he longed to hear Natasha's tale of her hunt for the Draugr. The fierce water spirits were said to eclipse entire villages; they were slippery as fish and deadly as dragons. Some held magic in their bones and guarded their spoils with seething jealousy.

_So, how would Natasha manage to slay such a vile, dangerous creature?_  Loki stared at the titles with unseeing eyes as he pondered the conundrum.  _She must be exceedingly intelligent, he thought, even more so than I first imagined. Strong, as well. And slippery with it, perhaps as sly the Draugr itself…_

She had managed to evade his advances the night he breached her house. Only one slender tie lay between him and the huntress: the borrowed copy of Ragnarsdrápa. Certainly it would make complete sense if he returned to the forest with another book. His excuse could be he needed Ragnarsdrápa for a piece of scholarship or research; such a request would seem entirely natural, and if he offered another in its stead he might reap a smile as a reward. Infused with enthusiasm for the first time since Frigga had died, Loki scanned the shelves closely for a book Natasha would enjoy. The thought of the draugr she had slain made him pick up  _Hrómundar_ , but the saga was dreary and filled with men shouting at each other he put it back.  _Laxdæla_  was a bit better, but not much…

Immersed in those pleasant thought, Loki missed the panel door to the library opening. A lilting, musical voice breathed over his neck; "Here you are," the new queen said. "I have been looking for you during what seems an age."

Cautiously he withdrew and sat in one of the leather chairs by the fire to put some distance between them. "You might have sent for me," Loki replied in the coldest tones he could summon.

She made it worse by perching on the arm of the seat he had chosen. "Oh, heavens! Summoning and servants – I'll never get used to it all. Besides, I wanted to talk to you in private. Have you heard your brother returns?"

"Naturally - we discussed it with the jape Fandral an hour hence." Loki jumped up and returned to the shelves, starting to feel like a hunted draugr with a witch breathing down his back.

"And of course we will have several parties, dances and the like to celebrate, but in the meantime I must attend Fandral's ball. Did you receive an invitation?" Her breath was on the back of his neck once more, making him itchy.

"I heard it mentioned." His skin was beginning to crawl with her proximity; not only was she usurping Frigga's throne but her library as well. Lorelei in her silks and satins made an incongruous figure among the old books and beloved furniture, each piece evocative of his mother and her kindness.

"The king is busy that evening. Will you take me instead?"

"Madam, I hardly think that is appropriate…" Loki stopped. A dangerous sparkle had come into the queen's eyes, as though she were merely waiting for him to make a misstep. "Of course, if Odin sanctions it I will attend you at the soiree," he finished smoothly.

Did he see a shade of disappointment cross her features? It was gone in an instant. "Thank you so much," she breathed. "What a lovely room. Perhaps we might sit together here in the evenings."

Loki turned away from her so she wouldn't see his fury. "I only entered to find a book. In truth I never come to this room any longer." He seized a volume -  _Hrómundar_  after all – and strode out of the room, miserably conscious of the queen's pleased, victorious smile.

* * *

"Why did you have to take her as wife out of all the women in Asgard?" Loki paced in front of Odin's chair, seething. "She destroys our mother's memories simply by existing. Her presence polluted Frigga's library just now…'twas our private place!"

"I had to marry again, Loki." Odin's calm voice cut into his anger. "As ruler of Asgard, my position is perilous if I do not have a queen."

"But why  _her_?" His voice rose to a shout.

"Fighting so soon?"

Thor entered the chamber with a broad grin. As soon as Odin saw his son, an answering grin creased his beard, and he stood with both arms out. Loki watched with slitted eyes as his father and brother embraced; Odin seemed relieved at the interruption. Of course he would be - who wouldn't prefer the company of cheerful, witless Thor to Loki's despair and pointed questions?

"Have you met our new queen yet, brother?" he sneered.

After a pause, Thor answered. "Aye. She welcomed me home and told me to wait on her later after I greeted my father."

"Such pretty words. Maybe she will turn into a tomtit and sing for us all in her gilded cage. It's how she sees the palace, you know – her chosen cage. And when she has no more use for it, she will fly with our fortunes into …"

"Enough!" Odin shouted. "Get out, both of you. I must prepare for a long series of meetings with my ministers. The crown sits heavily, and one day one of you will discover just what that means."

"Of course he refers to you," Loki murmured to Thor as they left the chamber. "He would never allow me to rule Asgard."

"You infuriate him on purpose!" Thor shook his head. "Have things between you gotten even worse?"

"It is all her fault," Loki sulked. He knew he was acting like a child, but Lorelei's intrusion into his one private space had stabbed him to the heart like an arrow.

Thor stopped and pulled him into a private niche. "The new queen seems overly attentive," he whispered. "Did you notice it as well?"

His neck prickling with caution, Loki nodded. "One word of this and we could lose our heads," he murmured. "We must avoid her as much as we can."

"We could ride to Østenblad and talk more about it, but I hear a draugr has arrived to terrorize the village and its lake."

"Ah." A flood of pride deep as though he had slain the creature himself filled Loki to his very bones. "No longer! The foul beast is no more, or so I hear in the court. Fandral told me the news this very day."

"Is this true? Who has the ability to take down such a fearful shade? 'Tis said even Mjolnir passes through their sliming skins."

"A huntress." Loki didn't want to say any more, but something in his tone must have alerted Thor.

"A huntress! What is her name, brother? I would meet this goddess of the chase and see her with my own eyes."

Hating himself, Loki tried to deflect the conversation. "No one of any consequence. She is the ward of Ivan Petrovitch, a country squire now struck down by the plague."

"Petrovitch," Thor mused. "I remember the name. Is he with the healers? We could visit and see how he fares, if you like. And I shall give this huntress an invitation to Fandral's gathering so I can meet her in person."

"No!" Fury throttled every inch of Loki's frame. He seized Thor's elbow and dragged him to a nearby courtyard. "Our new queen," he added bitterly, "has commanded me to accompany her to the party. I am certain it will be an eternal evening filled with her wiles and flirtations. To have Natasha there on top of it would be torture…" He stopped, realizing he had given out her name.

Thor grinned. "Do not worry, brother. You think me slow-witted, but I see now how things stand. Bring the queen to the party, and I will make certain you are free to spend time with this 'Natasha'. What mere usurper to the throne could tackle the Odinson boys if we put our minds together?"

For the first time that day, Loki felt a bolt of relief shoot through him, and an answering smile curled his lips. "You could be right, brother. And I have heard it said Fandral's estate has many quiet corners and private gardens to explore."

"There you have it." Thor bellowed with laughter. "Send word to your huntress, and I shall fix things on my end."

He was about to march off, but Loki stopped him. "Thor – I just – it is – it is not so bad to have you back in the palace." He left, but not before he saw the delighted surprise on his brother's face.


	4. The Taste of Treachery

"You need to think about what you want to achieve as the possible future king of Asgard." Lorelei's robe swished over Loki's ankles as he escorted her into the candlelit ballroom filled wide dresses and looped skirts, worn by duchesses and courtiers alike.

"I'll never be the King of Asgard." Loki felt his lip curl as he escorted the queen to a throng of ladies; they all immediately rushed to greet her with a bevy of various nonsensical statements.

"Such a crush, is it not?"

"What an incredible robe – you put the rest of us to shame."

"We never expected to see you here this evening, Your Majesty!" The last speaker was Freya, delivering her compliments with a toss of blue-black hair over her dark face; Loki thought she looked very beautiful as the color rose in her cheeks. The ice-blue satin she wore only accentuated the shadows in her cheeks and throat.

"I see your new son attends you," Skaði said to Lorelei with a wink. "How does it feel to have such a handsome boy?"

"Tell me, does he need succor in the middle of the night?" another lady added.

"Perhaps he wishes to crawl into your sheets after a nightmare…"

"I would not mind being woken by such a son!"

Their wit flowed on; Loki hid his disgust and beckoned for champagne. A servant popped a bottle open, and under cover of bubbles flowing into glasses modeled on the shape of Freya's breasts according to one cheeky courtier, he managed to make his escape. Only a few months earlier he would have accepted Skaði's come-hither glance and twirled her onto the dance floor with the other merry couples; Frigga's death had changed him into a more serious creature. And so as he regarded the laughing throng, Loki had the fancy he beheld two scenes with one laid over the other like gossamer: a version where he flirted and drank, and the true one with his present self who moodily stayed on the outside of the crowd, regarding the other guests as though they were a different species.

There were the Baldr twins, interlacing their fingers under the table in forbidden caresses as usual.

There was Iduna, displaying her ankles as she circled under Fandral's arm.

There was Ågir, approaching Freya with a hungry look on his lean face.

And Lorelei, who listened to Skaði prattle in her ear with her gaze fixed on Loki.

He turned away and saw at last what he sought all along. Natasha stood by Thor's side, her green eyes peeking from under her red hair like those of a creature hiding in the forest. His heart stuttered in his chest, and he started forward to claim her as his own; he felt as though there was a string between them, taut and thrumming with energy. But the moment was lost as several of the courtiers measured Natasha with sidelong glances; Loki watched one particularly nasty little duke mutter some poisonous comment just loud enough to be overheard. The skin of the huntress turned pale, and with one quick motion Thor compressed his lips and tugged her onto the dance floor and the safety of his arms.

Loki was left behind, gasping with anger.  _He_  was the one who should have been holding the flame-haired chasseuse, not Thor, and he watched from behind a pillar as the two swayed and circled in the movements of the dance, imagining a conversation filled with flirtation and heated innuendo. His fingers curled with fury, but he simply couldn't look away.

"Enjoying the party?" Freya handed him a glass filled with some sparkling drink; never taking his eyes off the two Loki tossed it down his throat.

"No." He held out the cup and she refilled it.

"I'm not surprised, since you choose to languish in the corner by yourself. Do you not see there are many who long to claim you as partner, Prince?"

He swallowed the second drink and squinted at her. "Are there?" Perhaps if Natasha saw him dally with some of the company she would appreciate his charms a bit more. Probably he came off as a dull dog – after all, when he went to visit a beautiful woman, he brought a book as a gift.  _A book!_

"Brother."

Thor's voice broke into his thoughts, and Loki scowled. "Is it enjoyable to monopolize the most beautiful woman here?" Thor cleared his throat, and belatedly Loki realized Natasha stood behind him. He shook his head in an attempt to clear the fumes of drink from his mind. "That is, I …" For the first time in his life, Loki felt tongue-tied.

"The Queen approaches. I shall take her to dance. Meanwhile, why do you not show the huntress Fandral's gardens?" Thor winked and slipped away; a moment later Loki heard his brother's laugh answered by Lorelei's crystal tinkle of amusement.

" _Are_  you going to show me the gardens?" Natasha's gaze was very direct. "Or a conservatory, perhaps? I am certain Fandral has a collection of etchings, if you are desparate."

Obviously she divined his intentions. Recovering his smooth manner, Loki held out his arm. "Just come with me for a breath of fresh air. I promise to return you safely."

She ignored his arm and strode out of the room with none of the lilting graces adopted by the women of the court. Loki followed as closely as he dared, and as they passed a wide window he indicated it. "Here. Let us go and stroll on the lawns for just a short time."

"Your Highness, I never 'stroll.'"

"So I see." Loki undid the catch, flung back the shutters, and jumped out of the casement onto the grass below; he held out his hands to catch her, but she ignored him and landed on her own. "By the by," he muttered, "I already asked you to call me Loki."

"Yes, of course you did." Natasha cleared her throat. "The truth is I don't do well in society or court appearances. Perhaps my job of chasing wild creatures has given me a touch of wildness myself, thus to languish inside a warm room with mirrors and candlelight is akin to being locked in a cage."

He allowed himself to imagine her on the hunt, prowling through the trees with sword in hand. The image made the blood rush to his sex, and he turned to hide his arousal. "I find it all tedious as well, but I have no woods nor means of escape. A prince must consider his time as belonging to the people, for them to schedule as they see fit."

Natasha stopped and looked out over the darkened lawns of Fandral's estate, and her firm line of lips softened. "I see. It must be very difficult – the feeling you are imprisoned by duty."

"Exactly." She was intelligent as well as lovely and wild; Loki felt himself sliding as though he skidded on ice and could no longer look at his world in quite the same way, ever again. "Huntress, although we live very differently you and I have far more in common than one would imagine."

A late nightingale bubbled with sweet song; two paperwhites glided over the meadow and threatened to alight in Natasha's hair. Gravely she considered him, and after a spell of silence she nodded. "Perhaps we do."

The birdsong died out, and silence surged back in its place – a moment filled with mystery as if they were about to open an ancient chest filled with treasure. Loki's lips parted, his breath quickened, his control fled. He wanted nothing more than to reach for her, to plunge his fingers into those curls, clasp her tiny figure to his, experience the sharp ecstasy of her mouth, the taste of her tongue…

"Loki! My son!" The trilling voice broke into their reverie. Loki groaned as Lorelei tripped across the grass, followed by an apologetic-looking Thor.

"The Queen insisted on finding you," he muttered as they grew close.

Loki's jaw hardened with frustration, and he turned to Natasha. All caution was gone; he was determined to make an assignation among her trees or his books, and there he would kiss her again and again, until they both were breathless…

No one stood next to him. Somehow the huntress Natasha Romanov had flitted away like the paperwhites.

Thus Loki allowed himself to be towed back to the glittering throng with Queen Lorelei and Thor. Someone popped a bottle of champagne and poured it into their glasses; a witty game involving the ladies' necklines was proposed. After several more drinks Loki felt his laughter growing louder and more reckless. The air grew warm and close, and everything whirled into a tumble of candlelight and bawdy company.

As for Natasha, it seemed she had disappeared from the party altogether.

* * *

With a loud groan, Loki covered his eyes. Broad sunlight streamed into the chamber, striping the sheets and the legs of the women next to him. He grunted and prepared to fall back to sleep, when …

_Women next to him! What the merry devil…?_

The prince jumped out of bed and seized the sheet to wrap around his hips. There among the crumpled covers lay the new queen and Freya. Both were asleep, and their faces bore the undignified marks of what must have been a thorough debauch from the night before. With a long stream of curses, Loki backed away from Lorelei's bed, crept out to the hall, and avoided the eyes of the guards outside the door. Praying he would meet neither Odin nor Thor, his footsteps pounded over the flagstones until with a sigh of relief he gained his room.

There he stripped, threw on a robe, and rang the bell for a bath.

As he lay in the warm water, Loki wondered what had happened the night before. After the first few drinks it was all a blur. Had he made a complete idiot of himself? And, worse, had Natasha seen his descent into madness? Or what if she and Thor had… With a strangled roar, Loki surged out of the bath. He toweled furiously, stepped into the first suit of clothes he could find, and strode out to find his brother.

He didn't have to go far. Thor's bellowing laugh was heard around the next corner; Loki ran smack into him and some tall, dark-haired woman who looked vaguely familiar. "Brother, I must speak with you," he began.

"Indeed! First, allow me to present the Lady Sif, here to represent the country of Vanaheim." Thor beamed and the lady bowed slightly.

Loki nodded. He was too distracted to notice much about her, other than her height and general impression of severe strength. "Brother," he repeated. "Alone."

"Very well." Thor murmured something to the Lady Sif and accompanied Loki to a nearby balcony. "What is it?"

"I must ask you what occurred last night," Loki gasped. He was almost afraid to hear the response.

"Ah, of course! I should have told you earlier. The Huntress Natasha felt out of sorts, and so she asked if she could leave early. Naturally I escorted her to the edge of the forest, and she assured me she could reach her house on her own." Thor twisted to his brother, a quizzical look on his face. "Do you think I did wrong? Should I have ridden with her to the place she lives?"

Loki shook his head. "She never saw me? Never saw how I …"

"No, I am sorry. She insisted it was time for her to leave after only one dance."

A glow of relief spread through Loki's limbs. It seemed he had escaped utter ruin; the lady had left before his disgrace and public drunkenness. "No matter," he mumbled. "I should have known better to trust such an important assignment to you."

Thor's response was a long bout of laughter and a clap on the shoulder. Loki left him with Lady Sif, determined to forget the hideous affair.

His satisfaction lasted until after dinner. As he prepared for an early night's rest, determined to wake early and find the elusive huntress, the door to his chamber opened and the new queen entered; with an impulsive movement, Lorelei ran to Loki's side. "I thought the king would never finish his dinner!" she cried before she flung her arms around his neck and pressed her red lips to his.

Loki stifled an oath and disentangled himself from her clutches. "I beg your pardon, madam."

Her eyes widened. "But last night!" she began.

"Last night was a drunken mistake. It is surprising you choose to bring it up at all." He thrust her to arms' length and stared at a spot over her head, hoping she would leave soon. Weariness from the late night and wine poured over him, and he wanted nothing more than his bed.

The wide, innocent look disappeared, and her fine brows puckered. "Should your father hear of this, he would be mightily displeased," the queen hissed.

"Indeed he would," Loki rejoined instantly. "But whom would he punish for it? I might be sent away from court, but an faithless queen is sure to lose her head." With a harsh, sudden movement he turned away, unable to look at her any longer. Lorelei was a reminder of his own indiscretion, lewd behavior symbolized by flesh.

"It is amazing what tales a wife can spin to lead her husband to a desired understanding," the queen began in a heated tone, but Loki interrupted.

"Enough. I am tired of this conversation. If I had been in my right mind, I can assure you this would never have happened."

"No?" Her voice softened once more, and she slid soft fingers around his arm. In his current mood they felt disgusting, like tentacles or slow-worms. "Are you so certain of that? For you were keen enough last night…"

"I said  _enough!_ " he shouted.

Lorelei snatched her hand away; he heard her quickened breath heave through her chest. "I see," she hissed. "Very well, I will leave you to your own devices. But if you think all is finished between us, you are sorely mistaken."

The ermine robe trailed behind her as she departed and slammed the door. Silence surged back in her absence, charged with regret and deep disappointment.


	5. Healers and Queens

"Do you remember when I used to toss you up into the air and pretend you could fly?"

Natasha picked up Ivan's hand where it lay on the counterpane. "You were always strong," she murmured.

"No need for strength; you were lighter than thistledown. A mere sparrow in my arms but always so serious – never shouting or laughing like other children."

"How would you know about other children?" Natasha teased, but her heart sank at the sight of her stepfather; his dear face was lined with pain, and he had never seemed so frail. Automatically she nodded as he recounted stories from their first hunt together, hiding her fears under a mask of complacency. In the middle of reenacting an adventure when they rescued a den of baby foxes from one marauding stoat he fell asleep with the immediacy of very ill patients.

Natasha sat back in the stiff chair and watched him slumber as his shallow breathing evened and softened on the pillow. He brought her to his home years before, shaking with fright and hiding a bruised face; her first hunt, first trap, and first kill – they had all happened at Ivan's side.

* * *

"I am ready to hire you for a job." The queen sat in her chamber idly swinging a fan from one hand; rain beat on the windowpanes outside. Natasha was drenched from her ride to the palace from the healers', and surreptitiously she wiped raindrops trickling down her neck.

One pink sleeve waved, and the maid hurried out of the room. The queen rose from her ornate, padded bench to go to the curtain Natasha noticed the first time in the huge room. She pulled a cord, and the tapestry swung back to reveal a huge mirror in a frame carved with words in an unknown alphabet; the symbols seemed to move in the light from the lanterns overhead. "You will dispatch an annoyance for me," Queen Lorelei declared.

Natasha bowed. "Of course, Majesty. Tell me the details, and I shall start at once. What pest would you like me to capture?"

Lorelei ignored the question. She approached the mirror, and her reflection within wavered; for a moment she looked like the jeweled, legless lizard Natasha had imagined the first time she saw the queen. The silver surface rippled, and Lorelei's image was replaced with a black and white shape that was familiar…

Natasha struggled to keep down her early breakfast of oatmeal as the picture resolved. It was Prince Loki, reflected in the mirror as clearly as though he stood in the room with them. He appeared to be in a different chamber, one lined with shelves of old books and paintings; a nearby window showed the rain falling outside. "There," Queen Lorelei said. "This is your new prey."

"I beg your pardon?" Natasha shook her head. "This is the prince."

The queen whirled and threw the fan so it struck a wall and fell in a clatter of useless ivory sticks and painted silk. "Of course it is the prince! Obviously no one hires you for your wits, dullard. You will dispatch him at once."

"Dispatch – do you mean capture? Did you want to …"

"No, I do not mean capture. I mean you will hunt him down, slit his throat, and cut his heart from his body." Lorelei slithered to the dressing table, retrieved a box, and opened it to reveal a velvet pillow inside. "You will bring me his heart in this casket when the deed is done to prove he no longer lives."

"Your Majesty…" Natasha sought to sound diplomatic. "I am a huntress, not a murderer. If there is a quarrel between the two of you, I am certain the king will help to smooth things over. Taking up the reins of a huge kingdom is exhausting …"

"Enough." Lorelei waved Natasha's words aside. "Your step-father, Ivan Petrovitch, lies several leagues hence with the healers. Obey my orders, or he will be turned out into the street and die there before you can reach his side."

A lump formed in Natasha's throat, and she blinked fiercely several times. With arms that seemed coated in lead, she held out her hand for the box and heard herself agree to the supreme treachery of killing Prince Loki.

* * *

"Before you ride, there is another who would see you." The speaker was a guard with gray hair and kind eyes; Natasha groaned inwardly.

"Are you Astrid?" she asked.

"The prince has spoken of me to you?" The guard smiled. "I have known him since he was a babe in arms. Others say he is very proud and strong-willed, but he has shown nothing save kindness to me and my family."

Unwillingly Natasha followed Astrid, and the box bumped awkwardly against her side. "I must return home," she began.

"Oh, no – Loki would be sorely put out if we let you leave without a few words." Astrid laughed softly and tapped on a panel set into the hall; it slid back and revealed the mellow room Natasha had just seen in the huge mirror. There were the paintings in tones of scarlet and old gold, the rain tapping against the window, the leather-bound books. Most prominent of all, there was the prince himself.

Loki raised his eyes from his volume as soon as Natasha was shown in; instantly he threw down the book and strode forward. "Huntress – I didn't know you were here." His pale skin was very white against the black velvet of his high collar; as always his head was tilted back and he seemed to look down at the guard and Natasha as from a great height. Still, there seemed something new in his glance – a shade of uncertainty, perhaps? Or was it her hidden knowledge he was her new quarry? If it came to that, she had to concentrate on hiding her own sadness and dismay.

"Now you can be happy again." Astrid prodded Natasha forward. "Jumpier than a cat on a damp blanket he's been – always asking if the huntress from Milkwood has been to call. Perhaps now I'll get a moment's peace!" Her rich chuckle followed her to the hall, cut off when the panel slid closed.

With a rueful grin, Loki indicated a cushioned seat. "My apologies. Astrid has known me all my life, and she thinks it gives her the right to treat me as a five-year-old."

"So she told me in the hall." Natasha put the box on a table, took the seat, and tried to quell the leap of blood to her cheeks when he sat next to her, so closely their thighs touched. "I hope all is well…"

He waved her words away. "I missed speaking with you further at the affair at Fandral's estate. Will you accept my apologies?"

She felt bewildered. "But the apologies are mine. In truth I thought I could last the entire evening, but great companies are not my forte. I'm afraid I scurried back to my forest like a rabbit in front of baying hounds."

Relief seemed to suffuse Loki's wide brow. "Did you indeed? Bravo – and might I add it was the most sensible thing anyone could have done in the face of such an onslaught. I only wish I had your sense, but of course I was compelled to stay. Lorelei forced me to be her escort," he added in a low tone.

"I see," Natasha replied, although she didn't. His lowered voice made him lean closer to her as though he wanted her to catch each word he said, and one long strand of black hair brushed against her cheek. Nerves flickered in her stomach, and she jumped out of the low settee to pace in front of the fire. "Perhaps you sought refuge in another way?"

"If you mean in my glass, the answer is Yes, to my shame. The following morning I awoke with no recollection of the previous night, and I have been afraid I was ill-mannered in your hearing."

"No need for shame." Natasha spoke automatically, her mind racing. The box Lorelei gave her was in the shadows of the snug library, but she felt it screamed  _Look! Here is your future assassin!_

He sat in a low chair, stretched out long, leather-clad legs, and smiled up at her; the prince appeared to have regained the inner confidence she noticed the first time they met. Confidence? No, it was the wrong word – arrogance, rather, as though he was very sure of himself. Looking at Loki one could see life was his for the asking, and he commanded servants, riches, probably women as well at the lift of a finger.

Natasha pointed to the book he had put down and asked about it. Loki picked it up and began to talk with animation about the subject – some sort of treatise on herbs and medicinals. It gave her a chance to calm her nerves.  _Was ever there a more awkward meeting?_  She had to converse with the man she was being forced to kill, hide the knowledge his life would be hers in a few days. Her hunter's instincts ticked into gear, and she envisioned a precise plan to get him alone. He would follow with eagerness; she was now certain of it. Once away from the palace she would distract his attention and slit the white throat above the stiff velvet collar – she could see the very spot as he spoke, where the blood pumped under skin and muscle. When she delivered the masterstroke, his warm blood would cascade over her hands and she would be the last thing he would ever see in his short lifespan. She would have to watch the warmth in his gaze turn to shocked awareness that she had betrayed him just like everyone else.

"I beg your pardon." Natasha couldn't bear to be in the room with the prince any longer. "I must return to the forest."

"But I wanted to give you more books first!" Loki stood and indicated a slanted pile threatening to cascade onto the thick carpet. "These are the ones I picked out for you – they are not well-known, but I loved them when I was growing up. The top volume kept me awake for night's on end, reading chapter after chapter. It was so exciting I just couldn't stop."

"Your Highness is too kind." Blindly Natasha felt for the dreadful box and stumbled to the panel, feeling for the lever that opened it.

He followed her at once and indicated a button; the action brought him very close behind her.  _Yes, I can get him alone without any trouble at all,_  Natasha thought.  _This will be a very easy chase indeed._

"What is the purpose of the box?"

She stifled her startled jump at the question, and the plan crystallized. Best to do it now before she had to listen to his low voice discussing his book with such intensity, or look into those green eyes once more. Any more intimacy between them would undo her completely.

"It is a trap," she replied.

"Ah, for the queen's little job. Tell me, what is it?" Once more he bent closer, and Natasha was compelled to look into that steady gaze.

"There is a white marmot in the woods." She cleared her throat; her voice was becoming husky. "A very sly creature – it has evaded all manner of arrows. The queen wishes its pelt for her cloak, and so I must set up an elaborate ruse among the trees." Natasha knew if she didn't speak quickly she would ride off to leave the palace forever, and Ivan would be lost. "Would you like to come and see the chase?"

"A marmot -  _this_  is the grand quest?" Loki laughed, a relieved sound edged with joy. "Yes, I would dearly love to see you at work, huntress. When shall it be done?"

"When Your Highness has a free moment."

"Oh, stop using that ridiculous phrase. We are Loki and Natasha to each other now and forever." His gaze dipped to the hollow of her throat, and her heart sped up; a quirk of his lips told her he measured her racing blood and delighted in it. "This time tomorrow? And I will bring the story for you."

"This time tomorrow." Natasha dipped her head, waited for him to press the little button, and walked away quickly so she wouldn't be tempted to look back at the prince as he watched her leave.

Because.

Because.

Because in the final moment with him she  _knew_  her own mind and soul, more clearly than ever before.

Because.

Because the Queen had hired Natasha to slaughter the man she now wished to protect above all others.


	6. Casket and Dagger

"You never related to me the story of how you slew the Draugr." Loki tilted his head up towards Natasha so he could catch each word of her reply. Around them the trees stretched to the sky dotted with puffed clouds blown by the spring winds.

She crouched and polished her dagger on one thigh. "Draugar are incredibly difficult to kill. I had to wheedle and cajole in her own language first, of course." Natasha held up the blade, squinted, and smoothed her sleeve over the hilt before she handed it to Loki. "Here you are – let's see you cast. I'll take you down the hill to where a nest of rabbits are, and you can attempt to win me my dinner."

Her footsteps were sure and silent, but Loki thought something about the huntress had changed. Natasha's neck bent as though she carried a heavy burden; perhaps she thought of her stepfather and his illness, or maybe the privations of her craft forced responsibilities larger than she could handle, deft though she was. "Natasha," he whispered.

One foot on a moss-covered rock, she froze. "Yes?"

_It is certain she has something on her mind._  "Is all well? You seem sad somehow, as if a shade covers your usual brightness. It is difficult to discern, but I can sense something prowls among your thoughts."

"'Prowls among my thoughts.'" Natasha turned to face him with her usual grin. "Certainly a fine way of putting it! You have the touch of a poet about you, Your Highness."

Loki growled. "I told you not to call me Your Highness any longer." Heedless of the rabbits, he nudged her and pretended to lunge at her with the dagger she gave him; instantly she shot off, her mocking laughter trailing behind. Loki grinned, thrust the knife in his belt, and went in pursuit. He was determined to catch her among the trees – the clever, wild thing she was!

Her steps led them to a small meadow, a tiny ring of violets and toadflax where the rays of the sun broke through the trees like light piercing the depths of the ocean. Loki pounced and caught her wrists, and he bound her against his chest; he could feel her laughter as though it came from his own lungs. "You have chased away my dinner, sir," she chided. "I deserve compensation for the hunger I shall suffer as a result."

"Certainly." Loki let her go, spread wide his arms, and tilted up his chin. "What duty must I perform in consequence?"

A shade seemed to swim across her vision, so swiftly he couldn't be sure he had seen it. "Kneel and profess eternal loyalty to me," Natasha ordered.

At once Loki dropped to his knees. "Most esteemed maiden, you hold my eternal troth. What wouldst thou do with it, pray?"

She stepped forward, and her voice became husky. "I would have a lock of your hair, varlet, as tribute for your crimes. Bow your head – oh, and give me the dagger in your belt."

Loki chuckled, reached for the knife and held it out; his eyes squinted against the afternoon sun. "Receive my blade, mistress, and may you find pity in your heart for this hardened criminal." He bowed, a smile on his lips, and waited for her to approach. Around them the woods were alive with birdsong. Above the pounding of his heart – for a kiss would come very soon, Loki was sure of it – he considered how she always seemed to bring life and color with her. When he walked with Natasha, it was as though the world hurtled a bit faster in orbit, and the very stones seemed to speak…

Natasha screamed.

The cry was so painful, so bitter and filled with anguish, Loki started. For a moment he thought she had been wounded, or – dreadful thought – she had slammed the wicked dagger into her own heart. The shout was followed by a thunk as the knife landed to quiver in the trunk of a tree across the tiny, sunlit clearing.

Jumping to his feet, Loki looked wildly around. "Such a cry! It nearly tore my heart from my chest… What happened to make you … Natasha!"

For she had sunk onto the grass, her fists in her eyes, rocking back and forth like a child who could not contain her misery. "I cannot," she said in a dreadful, heartbroken voice. "I simply cannot."

The knife still quivered in the tree. Loki strode forward, knelt beside her, and looked into the darkness of the forest. "There is no white marmot, is there," he said. It wasn't a question at all – in that moment he knew  _exactly_  why Lorelei had hired Natasha.

The huntress jumped away from him, strode to a bush, and rummaged inside the green and yellow leaves. She returned with a wooden casket in her hands, and he recognized it at once. "It is for your heart," Natasha said in a low voice. "I was hired to cut it from your chest and place it in this box before I brought it to her."

His face contorted; ice poured through his veins. Loki stood and turned away, no longer able to look at her. "I am sorry," he murmured.

"I beg your pardon?"

"For thinking you might actually harbor a fondness for me. What an idiot I was!" A crack of ironic laughter erupted from Loki's mouth, and a startled bird flew off into the underbrush. "You must have been quite amused by my stupidity. Therefore, my apologies, huntress." She didn't reply, just stared back with clear eyes blown huge with sorrow, the box still in her arms. He shook his head and prepared to march back to his horse, to ride away from Milkwood and never return. If he were very lucky, he would never see Natasha again.

"Where are you going?"

"To the devil!" It was melodramatic, he knew, but Loki's heart ached with – what, he wasn't sure.

"To the palace?" Somehow she had caught up with him.

"Who gives a damn?" He wrested his arm from her grasp with one savage gesture.

"She watches you," Natasha called. "In her mirror."

That made him stop and wheel to face her. "What?"

"There is a mirror in her room. She showed me. Queen Lorelei watches you – she can probably see what we do right now."

Loki panted with anger, and he shook his head. "So she has dark magic! I should have known. Well, huntress, it looks as though both our livers are fried. I know what _I_ shall do with my final moments – find the nearest wench and spend several hours between her legs. Good day to you."

"She can't hear us!" Natasha shouted again, just as he reached his horse. "The Queen has no idea what we say to each other!"

Once more he paused. "What do you mean by that?"

Her footsteps hurried behind him, and she said in a low voice, "There is an animal in the forest – a bonobo. Its heart is about the same size as a man's and the same shape. I can slaughter one and deliver the casket to the queen as she ordered."

Fury made the breath whistle in his throat. Loki seized her arms and shook her – the tiny huntress, so soft and deadly. "Why?" he shouted. "Why did you spoil it? We were good together!"

"She threatened my stepfather if I did not obey." Natasha's face grew pale. "The queen said she would have him tossed out of the healers' house into the streets, and he would die there. He saved me, you see, when my parents died. I was sent to live with an uncle – my father's brother - and his sons used to enjoy tying me down and having their way with me. Ivan Petrovitch saved me from that degradation. Believe me, there is no other in Asgard for whom I would trade  _my_  reputation - or  _your_  heart."

Loki felt his eyes grow wide and wet. A shudder ran through her frame, and he burned with sympathy, fury, sorrow, all at once. "A bonobo, you say."

"Indeed. They are shy and difficult to find, but I can do it. Tonight I will ride to the palace with the casket, if you agree."

"Agree to what?" Loki asked cautiously.

"We need to stage your death, and do so with utmost caution. The queen will be watching."

* * *

Loki lay on his back in the clearing. Natasha untied his jerkin and spread it open before smoothing his skin with both hands. Under her touch he couldn't prevent his stomach rippling as though her fingers spread fire and blood, both at once. Natasha seemed not to notice. "I'll bring the blade down here," she said, and pointed to one rib. "You must arch up with the blow and bellow with pain while I pretend to cut out the organ; once I am done you must lie still and not move. Do you understand?"

He nodded. "And the blood?"

"I have it ready, here in this bladder. You must bite down and spray it from your mouth as I cut. There is another beneath you to spread out as though you lie in your own gore."

"Can you make it look real?"

Her eyebrows drew together with impatience. "I am the finest hunter in Asgard – of course I can. Now, I want to ride to the palace and return before midnight. Are you ready?"

Loki nodded again. Her arm flashed up and down in a shining arc; for a moment he thought she actually had killed him. At the last instant he remembered to snap the bladder in his mouth; its blood shot out over his tongue, between his teeth, to arc up into the air over his neck. "Urgh," he mumbled.

Natasha paid no attention. She mimed a series of gristly cuts to his chest, lifted up the dripping heart she had prepared, and placed it carefully into the casket. Once the box was closed over the horrific contents, she leaned close so their lips nearly touched. "You must not move," she breathed. "I will ride to the palace, and the queen must see you as a corpse. When I return I will affect your escape, but until then you must be still. And if I do not return by sunrise tomorrow, ride off as far and fast as you can to find an army and accuse the Queen of treachery against the crown."

His eyelashes fluttered in response, and Natasha stood. She lifted the box carefully; he heard the grass swish under her boots.

Silence. She was gone.

* * *

A pale sliver of moon rose in the sky. Loki watched it wheel above him and thought about life and death. Perhaps it would have been better if Natasha had dispatched him after all; the memory of his accusing shouts against the huntress returned to him, and he nearly shifted with discomfort. Always his hasty temper and impatient nature forced him to accuse those who were worthy, and as a final twist of ironic fate he ended up in the bed of the foulest being in the kingdom.

Only the thought of what the queen would do to the huntress if they were discovered kept him still.

_His sons used to enjoy tying me down and having their way with me._  If he got out of his current mess, Loki would hunt those men down and kill them himself, cut off their hands so they could never inflict their lust upon little girls again. It seemed innocence and joy was always preyed on by evil; the many times he and Natasha had been interrupted by Lorelei crossed his mind. At Fandral's estate, in the library, and that very day in the clearing…

If the queen had not hired the huntress to kill him, Natasha would have submitted to the steadily growing attraction between them; Loki knew it with every nerve, each hair on his head. He would have kissed her there among the violets and toadflax in a prolonged embrace, and after they lay together in the meadow she would catch a rabbit for their dinner. They would read the story he had brought by her fire, and when she grew sleepy he would hold her close, belly and hips pressed together in the bed of her little house.

Such bright possibilities, all stolen by a queen's ambition.

Loki tried to ignore his pains. The blood in his mouth tasted like iron, and several beetles seemed to be intent on pushing its way into his hair; nearby a hiss sounded as though some reptile slithered through the moss. He longed to fling the insects off, march to the nearest stream, and rinse off the day's privations in an extended bath.

Steeling himself, Loki watched the fingernail moon and waited for Natasha's return…

_If_ she returned at all.


	7. Blood Bargain

"What happened in the forest?" Queen Lorelei sat with her hands on the casket, stroking the woods and inlaid ivory of its lid. "I saw you shout with rage and throw your knife into a tree before you argued with the prince. Tell me exactly what occurred."

"I wanted to gain his complete trust, Your Majesty. Loki is a very intelligent man." Natasha made her face grow somewhat witless; the queen seemed to enjoy looking at her as an underling and indeed it suited the huntress's purpose to have it so.

"Yes, he is." For one moment Lorelei's eyes flickered with sadness. "He was foolish in his choice, however – did you know he watched you from the pillars when you danced with Prince Thor at Fandral's party?"

Natasha kept her face smooth. "Yet you alone hold his heart now, Majesty."

"Ah." The Queen rose, wafted to the mirror, and drew back the cord. Natasha caught her breath as the image of the little clearing where she had assassinated the prince came into focus; in the deepening night Loki's body was motionless. Blood coursed from his mouth and chest, and a wide pool of gore surrounded his far-flung cloak. "You should have loved me!" Lorelei shouted suddenly into the mirror. "We could have ruled together!"

Certainly the elegant beauty had forgotten who stood behind her. Lorelei gazed at Loki, panting with anger, and her hands clenched, white-knuckled, on the box with the heart inside. Natasha willed her own breath to still and waited. A tiny clock wrought with gold and jewels on the wide mantel chimed with a lilting melody; outside a pack of dogs bayed and were answered by one of the falcons eager on the mews block-perch to spread its covert and fly over hills and rabbit runs.

"I shan't pay you," Lorelei remarked in a tone as light and untroubled as though she and Natasha gossiped together within a party assembly. "'Twas a messy affair, and you were lucky to bring it off. Indeed, it is difficult to believe you ever slew any beast at all, let alone a draugr."

Cold anger filled Natasha, as if a waygate had lifted and the course of a river redirected into her veins. "Very well," she responded smoothly. "I trust I shall not talk in my sleep of what has happened here at the palace. Good day, Your Majesty." She wheeled on the heel of her boot and prepared to leave.

"Stop. Talk in your sleep – what do you mean?" Somehow Lorelei was right behind her.

"Why, the life of a huntress is an exciting one, and sometimes I chase my prey into my dreams. Should I take a lover, he might hear something unexpected among my pillows."

_That should give her something to chew on!_  Natasha opened the door, but one delicate hand slammed it shut again, just as the huntress had planned. "What do you want?" Lorelei hissed in her ear. "Gold? Jewels? Land? Riches? A wealthy husband – Fandral, perhaps?"

Natasha turned, and with a shred of pity for one who valued such things as payment, she shook her head. "I would simply secure the safety of Ivan Petrovitch."

The Queen backed away. "Done," she said instantly. "But if one whisper of this comes to my ears – and they are everywhere, huntress – he will die in agony. And you as well, but I suppose this goes without saying."

"It does." Natasha allowed the witless expression to return to her face. "But to give up Fandral himself as a husband – 'tis a pity! Ah, well." She shook her head as though she measured her own stupidity, bowed, and with a surge of relief left the Queen's chambers.

* * *

Under the thumbnail moon Natasha rode to the healers and broke into the silent building. The patients and nursemaids slept; only one guard stood in the hall under a guttering lamp. She tried to distract the man's attention with a pebble thrown onto the window ledge, but he did not move – the man slept where he stood, ready to fall on the stones. Probably he had a flask tucked under his shirt, now empty.

Natasha stole to the room where medicinals and instruments were kept. She ignored the cut-glass bottles of red, emerald, bright yellow liquids and found a bucket filled with foul waste from the day's labors prepared for the dung heap. Holding her nose, Natasha took out a bag from her pack, poured the slimed contents into it, and tied it up quickly before leaving.

The guard never stirred as she closed the gate behind her.

* * *

"Loki."

He lay in the grass where she had left him, so pale and unmoving for one moment she thought he had truly been slaughtered by one of the many beasts in the forest. Natasha checked a sob in her throat; it had been a dreadful day filled with turns of emotion beyond endurance.

His black lashes fluttered, and one eye opened. The prince prepared to sit up, but quickly Natasha pressed one hand to his chest. "The queen still watches us," she murmured, "and she must see me bury you." One corner of her mouth quirked, and she added, "Would you like to meet your own grave?"

Humor glinted in his eyes. "Very much."

Natasha nodded. Experience with the hunt taught her to lift limp bodies heavier than she was; quickly she removed his cloak, hoisted the prince over one shoulder and carried him into the cover of the woods. There she had a long hole prepared. Natasha slung him into it, lifted a wooden spade, and muttered, "When I give you the word, jump out into the bushes. You must be quick."

She allowed a long flurry of earth to fall into the grave. "Now!"

Loki bounded out, and she shook out his cloak to cover the action. The velvet fell among the stones, and she quickly added the dreadful bag from the healers. It fell with a horrible, liquid thump in the grave; as she prepared to fill in the hole, Natasha caught a smell of something wrong – a whiff of dark and poisonous perfume. Fear for Ivan, Loki, and herself filled her heart, and she nearly jumped into the grave to examine the entrails she had just buried there. What secret did the foul bag hold?

Loki shifted in his covering bush, and Natasha shook her head. She had no time to start an investigation into the healers and their medicines. With hurried, desperate strokes she filled in the hole dark as a starving mouth. Although her muscles were honed from long hours in the saddle, Natasha cramped quickly as she worked; hunger tore through her belly; still the smells from the dreadful bag haunted her nostrils.

At last the mock burial was completed. Natasha struck the shovel into the makeshift grave and felt as though she had actually performed an assassination.

* * *

"Why the bag?" Loki sat by Natasha's hearth in nothing more than breeches; he had insisted on casting the gore-covered shirt into her fire.

"It played its part as your corpse. The queen wants to watch you in her mirror, and now I have given the bitch a body in a grave for her entertainment. The sight will distract her for a few days." With simmering violence Natasha hacked off thick slices of bread and spread them with lard. "Eat this – it is simple fare, but I'll wager your belly feels as empty as mine."

Loki tore into the bread with his white teeth, chewed, and chased it down with a long measure of wine. "And in your opinion, will she now rest?"

"The only certain thing is you are not safe here. Several days hence I will bring you to Ivan's old hunting lodge – it is a ruin of stones covered with ivy, but everyone has forgotten it exists. Thank the gods there will be no moon! Once you have a safe place to stay I will return to the palace to raise help. I thought your brother could dispatch some guards on our behalf, or perhaps the woman Astrid could inform him under orders of strict secrecy."

He let the half-eaten piece of bread fall into his plate. "Of course!" Loki jumped up and secured her hands in his. "It is the very thing – once Odin knows of Lorelei's treachery he will place her in the dungeons, if not hew her head from her body. She will be gone from the palace and my mother's place at last… Huntress, you are intelligent beyond my imagining. Your mind is like a supple horse, galloping faster than any soldier could run."

Natasha pressed him back into his seat. "There is much to do, and many things could go wrong. Let us save the celebrations for when you are back in Frigga's library, a volume on your knee and heir to the throne once more. Tonight you will sleep in my bed, and I will keep watch in the trees. When the sun rises I will steal a few hours of slumber, for we must be prepared and nimble when the time comes."

She rose; hastily he asked, "Where are you going?"

"I must wash off the day's blood."

"I want to bathe as well." His eyes glinted with determination.

Natasha nodded. "There is no warmed water here, prince – we must soak in the cold stream and be thankful for it."

"I need no heated bath."

Cautiously they stole out of the hut and crept through the shadows, and with a slight shock Natasha realized how well they moved together – in tandem, as though they both instinctively knew the way the other would step. "All I ask is a chance to rid myself of the creature's fluids in my ears and neck. Indeed, I itch with the disgusting slime I have lain in all day." Loki spoke with distaste; probably he had never experienced such dirt in his life before.

"Here is the stream." Natasha stripped quickly and walked into the water; it skirled over her knees and sex in cold, clean luxury. "Ahh," she couldn't help adding. "This was a day of blood and earth, even for a huntress."

A slight splash told her Loki had entered the water behind her. He lay back in the water and looked up at the stars, already hiding their bright faces in the promise of dawn. "It is as though I float in the heavens themselves," he murmured.

"I thought the same thing a few nights ago." Natasha tipped her head back and let the bubbling rapids wash through her hair; she froze when he splashed through the water and his strong fingers folded over her shoulder. "Don't touch me," she added.

Loki snatched his hand away. "Why?" he demanded. "Am I so loathsome? Do I make your flesh crawl?"

"On the contrary, I am the villain. Today I had every intention of betraying and murdering you." Natasha splashed more water on her neck, her shoulders, her belly, and scrubbed as if she could wash away that terrible intention.

"But you did not," Loki murmured in her ear. "You saved me, and my belief is you saved your step-father at the same time. Did you not? Am I right?" She nodded, and he dipped suddenly under the water. When he emerged, dripping, Loki climbed out of the stream and stood deliberately with both fists on his hips. He looked down at her with the arrogant lift of his head Natasha had come to associate with the prince; she could see every inch of him. It was difficult to restrain her gasp at his beauty – the strong thighs, the broad shoulders, the dark mystery between his legs. "I have met many brave men, huntress," he said, "but none braver than you were today."

Loki snatched his breeches up from the ground, pulled them on with swift, savage movements, and strode into the woods.

Natasha was left alone to shiver in a stream filled with stars.


	8. Heart of Darkness

At midday Natasha went inside for a crust of bread and a few hours of sleep. Her skull throbbed with weariness while her heart ached with fear for Ivan. She had done what she could in the woods; after she rested she wanted to put a second phase of her plan into action. It would require stealth and a lot of persuasion…

"Do you expect me to stay inside this cupboard all day?" Loki interrupted her thoughts with a contemptuous look around her rooms, such as they were.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did the servants neglect to regale you with the lute and bring the proper jewels to Your Highness this morning?" Natasha flashed. "My dwelling comes with very few amenities: water, food, and the chance to keep your heart inside your own chest." Her legs would support her no longer after the watch and several rides she had taken that morning, and she collapsed into a chair.

The prince sat in the seat opposite hers. He regarded his knees for some time; at last he said in a very stiff tone, "I did not mean to say…"

"Just cut me off a piece of the loaf and make sure I don't fall asleep while I eat."

Loki didn't raise his eyes. "There is no more bread. I ate it all this morning."

Natasha spat out a rude word, rose, and dragged her way to the small bed. "Keep your eyes on the windows and your ears ready," she called. "But stay out of sight at the same time."

"How can I manage to do that?"

Before she could answer him, a velvet black hood of sleep descended over her.

* * *

Natasha awoke to a smell of burning. She shot out of bed to find Loki with a small bowl in his hands, holding it out to her. "I made porridge," he said with some degree of pride.

"Oh." She took the bowl to her table, spooned it up, and put the stuff in her mouth; it tasted like scorched sheets with the addition of pebbled grit.

Natasha had spent most of her life with Ivan in the woods or on her own, and as a result finer points of etiquette were beyond her. She was about to spit the porridge out and shout at him for wasting good oats when she caught sight of Loki's face; he beamed with pride in his creation. With the utmost effort, she swallowed her insults as well as the slop and nodded. "Mmf. Thank you." Her attempt earned her a bright smile and a relieved sigh.

"I did not mean to eat all the bread. My life in the palace did not prepare me for…"

"Reality." Natasha nodded with understanding. "It didn't prepare you for true life. I will try to return you to your hermit's library just as soon as I can, but we will have to learn to deal with each other in the meantime." She held her breath and shoveled the rest of the bowl into her mouth. "Now, I need to ride to the edge of the forest. When I return, I'll prepare to move you to Ivan's hunting lodge – it will give you more freedom to move around."

"Why must you go?"

"To be honest, I have to get more supplies as I'm feeding two of us now. Plus I hoped to contact Thor or Astrid, and I would sleep more easily if Ivan were in my care and far from the palace. It will be tricky, but if I can hire a cart I could bring him to the lodge at the same time when I take you there."

He nodded, and a rueful grin crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I know I am not the easiest guest, Natasha."

* * *

Milkwood curled around the palace walls and the trees overlapped the ancient stones in several places. Natasha rode to one such place she had marked earlier; there she jumped off her horse and climbed over the wall. If anyone found her she could be hanged for treachery and her second attempt at outright villainy.  _I never wanted a life of crime, but it seems it has been forced upon me,_ she mused. Perhaps she could give up hunting for meat or furs and waylay rich countesses as a highwayman instead – steal their jewels and feed the poor.

Those plans evaporated when she caught sight of a guard under a willow, adjusting his armor after a piss in the bushes. Natasha waited until all was tucked away before she hissed at him. "Ho there! Do you know Astrid?"

He turned to face her in surprise, an honest fellow with a farmer's brown skin. Before he could raise an alarm, Natasha removed a small bag from her shirt and tossed it to him – the last of her coins. "I promise I am not here for any evildoing," she added.

He caught the bag, weighed it, and nodded before disappearing. Natasha knew it was a gamble; he could do as she requested or reappear with the queen's sentinels in tow and her neck would be in the noose. And what would happen to Loki in that case? How long would it take him to starve if she never returned?

_Frigga, just grant me the chance to save him,_  she breathed.  _I do not ask for success_   _– I will achieve it on my own merits._

Maybe the former queen heard the silent prayer. After several agonized minutes, the guard returned with Astrid; her gray hair pushed up on one side and query in her face. "Why, 'tis the hunting wench!" Astrid's face twisted with sorrow. "Alas, what sad times we live in. First Queen Frigga, and now my prince…"

Natasha waved her forward and whispered, "We have a lot to talk about."

* * *

"The new queen did all of this?" Astrid's honest eyes were filled with astonishment.

"You could ride with me now, find Loki in my house, and ask him to confirm the entire story."

The guardswoman pressed her hand against her chest. "The prince is still alive! That bugger – begging your pardon. He is slippery as a fish – when the queen announced his death it seemed wrong to waste time on grief. I should have known he's far too stubborn to be offed at the will of a mere slut. Sorry – the queen."

Natasha crossed her arms and laughed; she decided she liked the guardswoman. "I need some items. Can you procure them for me?"

"Books, I suppose."

"Of course Loki would like those, but they are last on my list. Gold would help, if you have any recourse to it – food too, and wine. Clothes for the prince, the plainer the better. And I need to talk to his brother."

"Done. All will be prepared by tomorrow." Astrid leaned close and gave Natasha a smacking kiss on the cheek redolent with beer and sausages. "That is for the prince – be certain you pass it along, mind."

* * *

On the way home Natasha slaughtered a few mallards for their dinner; some wild onions and parsley would make the meat more palatable. She arrived at the cottage to find Loki tearing his hair out with boredom. "This will kill me," he groaned. "I almost think you should have ripped my heart out when we had the chance."

She thrust one mallard under his nose. "No worries – behold, we can play the game of pluck and gut. He who leaves the most feathers is the loser."

The prince received the limp bird with a look of astonished disdain. "I certainly won't be eating this!"

"More for me, then." Lack of sleep and bread made Natasha cantankerous. She seated herself on a stool, drew up a bucket, and began to strip her fowl of its feathers.

After a long moment he joined her, complaining the barbs were too sharp. "And do we really have to gut the thing?"

"The 'thing' will taste like shit if we do not, begging Your Highness's pardon. And when I say shit, I mean it literally. These flying rats are filled with dung."

"I told you to call me Loki."

"I will when you stop your complaints."

Loki muttered, but he continued to strip the feathers away. When Natasha declared herself the winner, he had recovered his spirit enough to argue his bird was the cleaner of the two. "But what of these little picky barbs?" he asked, pointing to the neck.

"I'll candle those." Natasha held up a brand, lit it in the fire, and singed off the last of the pinfeathers; he looked proud of his work and started to boast. In order to shut him up Natasha plunged her hand inside her bird and pulled out a handful of innards; Loki exclaimed, made a quick excuse, and left the room with one hand over his mouth.

* * *

Once the meat was roasted, Natasha poured the last of her wine into two glasses and raised one to Loki. Gravely he touched it with his. "To your return," she said. "If all goes well, it should be soon."

His eyes gleamed. "No more plucking for me."

She laughed. "No, indeed. But tell me – what do you think of your labors?"

Cautiously Loki picked up a wing and bit into it with fine, white teeth. "Not terrible," he said in a surprised tone.

"And you did it yourself!" She toasted him again, winked, and drank more wine.

" _And_  I made porridge, if you recall."

"Prince, if you value our friendship, never do so again."

Loki winked. "That bad?"

"I never knew it was possible to ruin good oats, but today you have proved me wrong."

He laughed, a mellow sound with the fire crackling behind them. "Huntress, you continue to win my ire as well as my respect."

Natasha leaned closer. "I think we are on the way to returning you to your rightful place. I spoke with Astrid today, and she will bring me supplies anon, as well as a chance to speak with your brother. As long as the first guard I approached holds his tongue, all will be well."

"He will." Loki finished the last of his meal. "The guards are all faithful to Astrid – in a sense she raised them."

"Thank the gods." Natasha leaned back, relieved. "It was my last worry. If he stays true, we are in the clear and you will be selecting a new tale to read before Midsummer."

"And what of you?" Loki raised his glass to her and drank. "What will happen to my savior with hair the color of late sunset when I return to the Palace?"

With a rush Natasha remembered their isolation, sitting in her little house far from the rest of civilization. "I shall continue my work and rid you of any other dragons or witches who appear, should you ever need me." Hastily she rose and carried her dish and glass to the bucket. "And now I must scout out the woods to make certain all is safe. Get some sleep, prince."

* * *

As the moonlight filtered through branches tossed by a light wind, Natasha prowled to the stream's edge and marked the sounds of the night – an owl on the hunt for dozing wood mice, a fox returning to its den, whispers from the nearby stream. She sat, leaned against a mossy tree stump, and prepared to watch until dawn.

Exhaustion peppered the edges of her vision with visions. In a half-dream she saw Queen Lorelei pace on a turreted courtyard as she wiped tears off her pale cheeks; when King Odin approached her with a lantern she waved him away. Odin seemed to sigh before he turned and left her alone, an old king bent under the weight of palace politics and a loveless marriage.

_Lorelei's eyes narrowed as she watched him go; there was ambition in her glance, some evil intent…_

Natasha jerked upright out of the dream and stifled her shocked exclamation. Danger was afoot – her hunter's instincts told her so clearly. She rose and, silent as a shadow, slipped through the trees to her little house; as she went Natasha prayed she would not be too late. The queen was on the move in Asgard, and Loki lay helpless as a kitten in Natasha's bed. What would Lorelei do to him if she discovered the prince still lived? Tie him up in his own entrails and drip poison into his eyes? Starve him in a dungeon? Or simply slit his throat and cut out his heart, just as Natasha herself had planned? She should never have left him alone.

Head buzzing with those dreadful fears as she neared her cottage, Natasha ran full-tilt into something warm, firm, alive. One large hand covered her mouth before she could shout for help, and a voice hissed in her ear, "No need to scream, huntress - it is me."

_Loki – he is alive._  With a smothered sob Natasha cast her arms around his neck and clung to him. "I simply had to return to you. The pictures in my head – I could no longer…I was afraid…"

He murmured his surprise and drew her close, bent his dark head over hers. "And do you have feelings after all, little one? For it was the same on my part. I dreamed something dreadful arose in the dark and swallowed you whole, and I thought my heart would break."

"Your heart." Natasha laughed, a mad combination of fear and soaring happiness; was she losing her mind? Carefully she spread her fingers over his chest and felt the steady thump of his life quicken through his veins.

Loki caught her laughter and returned it; she could see his bright smile. "Still it beats," he mocked.

"Yes."

His smile disappeared, and Loki bent to whisper words so soft that they fell like seeds from a dandelion clock. "It beats for  _you,_  huntress."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually plucked and gutted ducks when I was growing up on our farm, and I can attest pinfeathers truly suck.


	9. The Tree House

Loki meant to trail his lips up Natasha's throat, but he had no chance. His eyes bulged as the huntress whispered in a broken voice, "I should have taken my dagger and struck Queen Lorelei right there among her silks and jewels when she ordered me to kill you. I should never, ever have considered…"

"Hush, now." His hands spanned her face; he tilted it up and kissed her with great passion and longing. Her tongue tasted of warm female, her breath of the mint tea she brewed for them after their simple supper.

Natasha jerked away from him. "No. Not here. Follow me – I'll show you something. A secret." She twisted out of his embrace and disappeared through the trees; Loki cursed and scrambled to catch up with her while staying as quiet as possible. He caught her at the foot of a tree and meant to steal more kisses, fraught with excitement and danger. To his surprise she shinned up the tree and disappeared into the branches. Under his probing fingertips he felt notches cut into the great trunk; with another spool of curses Loki reached up and managed to haul himself into the leaves.

"Oh!" He stopped, entranced. Natasha was on a wooden platform, surrounded by three walls. She held out an arm, and he grasped it to stagger into the tiny place. "What is this?"

"Shh. Ivan built it for me when I was a child. I still keep it swept and clean, although the squirrels pirate the place when I'm busy with a long hunt." Her red curls glowed in the dark as she opened a box, removed a bag, and took out several cushions and a thick blanket.

Loki didn't let her arrange them on the floor; he swept her into his arms and backed her against one of the supports to capture her mouth under his. "Lovely, you are so lovely," he murmured. "I wanted to have you the first time I met you, and yet you continually ran from me as though I were the hunter and you the prey. Why was that?"

Natasha kissed him back, a long swirl of delicious and shared breath; the sensation made him impossibly hard. "Because I  _am_  a hunter. You need a princess or a duchess at the very least…"

"One of those goggling, giggling copies at the palace? No thank you." Loki sank onto the pillows and pulled her to sit next to him. "If you love me, do not abandon me to females who think of nothing but gossip and gowns all day and night!"

He chuckled as he sensed her frown; already he was entranced by each mood flitting through the compact creature that was his Natasha. "I don't know about love…" she started.

"But you do." Loki spoke with great firmness. "You love me – I know this. And we will make love, here and now, in this little boat you've prepared for us among the trees."

Her only response was a long sigh of surrender; he whimpered as her fingers thrust into his curls and she bit his neck. An answering whimper told him he was right, that she wanted him just as fiercely as he wanted her sensual little body, and together they tumbled onto the tossed cushions, the crumpled blanket. "I'll never be able to …" Natasha started.

"I don't care. Just this once nothing matters except here, and now, and you, and your lips, and oh Natasha." Loki rolled on top of her and started to undo her mannish shirt. The material was so old the buttons slipped through easily, and he was able to smooth one hand over the skin of her belly – so soft and hard it was at once – the softest skin ever, burning his fingertips like coals in the hearth, and hard with muscle underneath. In the sliver of moon he could just make out her face, intent on him. "You are beautiful," he whispered. "Beautiful."

"Here and now," Natasha repeated. "But you don't understand. I have a secret..." She stopped and listened, her body taut with awareness. "Loki," she hissed. "Listen!"

He paused and heard the night sounds of the forest. They were starting to become familiar, a random melody of hushed voices singing each other to sleep among the tossing branches: owls, larks, a nightingale. That fantasy disappeared when one voice bellowed, "Huntress Romanov!"

"For fuck's sake," Loki cursed. "Thor! Of all people! And of all nights – the clumsy fool couldn't have chosen any better." He prepared to climb down, but Natasha stopped him, doing up her shirt with rapid fingers.

"Let me. I'll prepare him and tell the prince to keep his voice down. Once I discover what has happened in the palace I'll call for you."

"I am not an infant to be suckled at your breast," Loki complained, but already she had shot down the makeshift ladder. A moment later he heard her hiss for Thor and his brother's answering shout, followed by a series of warning whispers. The two dark shapes grew closer together; a long discussion appeared to follow with grunts of surprise on the part of his brother and calm reassurances from Natasha.

He had just lost his temper and prepared to leap off the tree house platform between the two and separate them (why was the oaf standing so close to her in any case?) when Thor himself appeared on the little ledge. "Loki!" Thor erupted in a strangled shout and swept him into a mighty hug. "The entire palace thought you were dead – the queen said it was a hunting accident and blamed the huntress's clumsiness for it. I thought it all seemed strange, but you were nowhere to be found and I had to believe what Lorelei said. The past few days have been the most tragic time of my existence."

"You'll bring Natasha's tree house down on our heads, you fool!" Loki disentangled himself. "Did you just say the queen blamed her? By our lady, Thor! The truth is quite to the contrary. It was Lorelei's fault all along, and the huntress was my savior."

Natasha avoided Loki's embrace just as neatly as he had evaded Thor. "Seeing the queen has accused me of being at fault in your death, she will not hesitate to send out the sheriff or guards loyal to her cause. We must move out  _now_  before I am arrested and Ivan is lost."

Thor swept back his hair. "What can I do to help you?" he asked quietly.

"Cut the serpent's body into pieces and boil her in oil!" Loki gritted his teeth. "She has befouled every aspect of my life, and I will not have her touch one hair of your head, Natasha."

"We cannot hack apart the queen just yet," Thor argued.

"Why not? Denounce her to our father and have her hanged for treachery. It is the simplest solution, and Ivan Petrovitch can stay where he is." Loki drummed his fingers on his thigh. "Will the king bless our marriage, do you think?"

"We can't denounce anyone," Natasha repeated. "Tell him, Thor."

Loki felt a cold shaft of fear as Thor swiped his face quickly into his elbow. "Loki, our Father no longer lives. He was discovered in his bed yesterday morning, cold and stiff. The healers said he died in his sleep, and Lorelei now rules Asgard."

* * *

"It is all her fault," Loki insisted. "The foul witch – for I will call her Queen no longer – poisoned our father. I am certain of it. We must ride back to the castle and cut her down, Thor. To think she moved so swiftly! I knew at once she was evil, but I never suspected such villainy as this." He felt ready to vomit with sorrow and overwhelming rage.

Thor linked his fingers together loosely on Natasha's kitchen table. She had put out one dark lantern and the cold remains of the duck, but no one was hungry. "It seems to me Natasha has guided you well the past few days," he said. "Huntress, what would you suggest?"

"We'll need to plan carefully against the queen if she holds the throne. Better to move the prince to Ivan's hunting box to begin with, as Loki and I already planned. I would like to fetch Ivan, but if things are so heated already it may already be a lost cause."

Loki slid forward, clasped her waist, and the anger burned his throat. "I will make certain your stepfather is saved," he said in a low voice. "If it is the last thing I do, it will be this. Thor, take whatever gold from my room you need – melt down my jewels if need be. Do you mark me?"

"Aye, I'll do what I can."

"Astrid promised me gold and food yesterday," Natasha said. "I meant to stay in this cottage to allay any suspicions, but I think I'll have to move to Ivan's hunting box with Loki and Ivan, if we can secure my stepfather. Once we amass enough supplies, we should travel farther afield and see if we can drum up an army. Only a show of might will get the prince back on the throne where he belongs."

"Astrid! Yes, that is good thinking." Thor nodded. "I will find her myself tomorrow and add more gold to the things she has for you."

"I arranged to meet her at the sun's rise." Natasha scratched at a knife's scar on the table, put there by her ten-year-old self during some childish tantrum against one of Ivan's rules. "Could you arrange a distraction for the queen while I talk with Astrid?"

"Indeed I shall. And as for your step father, I will do what Loki asks and prepare to bribe our way into the healers and out again." Thor rose peered out of the window. "I should ride back to the castle while it is still dark, but you may depend on me tomorrow."

"And me," Loki insisted.

"I shall follow you, Thor." Natasha took down an old cloak from a hook. "Keeping watch is more important now than ever."

Loki was about to argue when Thor said the most intelligent, perspicacious thing he had ever heard from his brother. "Nay! Best stay with Loki in the face of such evil. If you are separated, who knows when you will be reunited again?"

She put her hands on her hips, eyes narrowing as though she expected some plot. "Did he ask you to say so?"

"'Tis easier to defend a stone tower if all are within,'" Loki interjected smoothly. "It was one of my favorite lines from Ragnarsdrápa, and in this case it makes a great deal of sense."

"Exactly. Well said, brother – you were always better with words than I." Thor nodded to them, pulled the prince in for one final embrace, and left; they heard his attempts at being silent die away outside as he crashed and cursed through the sleeping woods.

Natasha wheeled on Loki. "Do you and Thor always team up on unsuspecting maidenss?"

Loki held up his hands in innocent dismay. "Natasha, I am wounded. What he said actually makes perfect sense for once. We should stay together instead of separating so you are to hand if someone does come in the night."

She snorted but couldn't repress a smile. "Seems it's you and me in the bed after all, Prince. Give me a moment, and I'll prepare the sheets for us."

"I am glad you see things my way. Besides, we both need comfort tonight." No, she couldn't leave him on his own – he had to have her flesh next to his, so soft, so alive. And they had waited so long, always with some ridiculous clod or avenging queen sailing in between him and his huntress; Loki thought of the little clearing in the wood and the game with the dagger before Natasha's terrible truth had been revealed. He thought of the quick dalliance they had together at Fandral's dance, broken off by Lorelei's impetuous fancy for him...

 _Lorelei._  A feeling of cold reality crashed over him. Loki closed his eyes and remembered waking in the bed with Lorelei and Freya and the queen's clinging embraces the next day, as unwelcome as walking into a spider's web in Frigga's gardens.  _What exactly happened that night?_  Such a fool, to drink himself blind and be hauled into the queen's pillows like a betrayed virgin.

At the brink of laying with his love, the brave huntress who had saved his life in so many ways already, Loki couldn't move. Instead he shoved his fists in his eyes and knelt by her little hearth.  _Make it not be real,_  he pleaded desperately. It was a ridiculous prayer, never to be answered - as crazy as when he committed some childish crime. A frog, held too tightly and crushed under eager fingers. His first violent argument with his father. Waking from a lusty dream, spurting into his nightclothes for the first time and experiencing embarrassed fear along with the forbidden delight. Then, as now, he knew it would make no difference; still he repeated the hopeless words in his mind anyway:  _Frigga, make it not be real._

He felt a warm pressure on his shoulder, as though his mother the queen had placed her hand there and comforted him. Not daring to move, Loki breathed in and sensed a ghost of the herbs she used to carry in her pocket, a tiny whiff of thyme and verbena vanishing as soon as he acknowledged it.

An owl hooted outside, and Loki raised his head. How long had he sat there? He rose and strode to the bedroom, his lust overcoming him in a rush. By the gods, he would have Natasha skewered under him all night, and their pure love could wash away the events of that terrible night. Not only that, he vowed he would confess to her the terrible wrong he had done to her and indeed the entire kingdom. Natasha had tried to tell him something as well; he was sure of it. Before they were interrupted by Thor, she trembled on the brink of revealing a memory that burned her from within.

So they both still carried their secrets, locked in their hearts like caskets enclosing some hidden shame. By the thunder of the gods, he intended to bare his crime to her that very night and listen to hers as well; at last all could be laid in the open. And if she shouted at him in anger and hatred for what he had done, he would... he would...

At the threshold of the bedroom, Loki stopped. Natasha lay in a welter of sheets, her mouth slightly open and eyes closed. She breathed softly, never stirring.

The huntress was asleep.


	10. Ivan

"I have a surprise for you." Astrid slipped over the palace wall and beckoned to Natasha. "Had to time things just right, but all should be well if you make haste." She held up the long, swaying boughs of a willow; underneath there was a cart with two patient mares hitched to it. The larger of the horses stamped one hoof and blew a quick huff at Natasha's approach.

"This will be difficult to navigate through Milkwood…" Natasha's voice died out with surprise. Lying in the bed of the cart in a nest of pillows and thick eiderdowns was Ivan himself. He tossed fitfully among barrels and crates of what looked like enough food for several months, cheeks marked with the red of high fever. "Astrid, how did you manage it?" Natasha blinked a few tears away. The last occasion she had wept was over Ivan's illness, ages past, when he first fell into a fit during one of their hunts.

"Prince Thor says you have a place of safety." Astrid sucked a molar and lifted her chin at Natasha. "Take care of him and my Loki as well, will you?"

There was something wrong. Natasha leaned over the cart; some evil lay within, and she could sense it like a poisonous flatworm burrowing through the contents. There was no time to investigate, however, and she had to release the guardswoman to her duties. "I'll do my best," Natasha promised. "With a rabid queen on the throne there isn't much security to be had in Asgard."

"Aye. Sad times, but we'll make it all come aright. Do you need more help or a sharp sword, ask for me from any of the palace guards. They'll aid you, sure as eggs." Astrid peered into the cart and sniffed. "Ugh, the smell of that slop the healers use! It felt good to move him away from those bloodsuckers. Three died at their hands just yesterday, and another this morning."

"My thanks." Such small words for so much emotion! Awkwardly Natasha patted Astrid's shoulder; with a hoarse chuckle the woman pulled the huntress into her arms.

"The gratitude is mine for rescuing my prince. Such a small, dark sprite he was as a boy, grown so tall in what seemed a day. And generous with it, if you ever found the way to his heart! Granted he has a violent temper, but I say Loki is good underneath it all, and no one can convince me otherwise."

"I should go," Natasha said with regret; she wished she could stay and talk longer to the guardswoman and hear her stories – not only of Loki and Thor's childhood but also tales from Astrid's lifetime as a guardswoman.  _No matter_ , she told herself,  _when this is all over I will take her to the finest inn and buy her ale so we can speak at our leisure._

Astrid nodded and watched Natasha mount the cart, pick up the reins, and guide the horses forward onto the flattest piece of grass she could find. The guard followed a few paces; when Natasha looked back she saw the woman raise one arm in a salute, her gray hair shining like pure silver in a shaft of early sunlight like a spear thrust through the trees.

* * *

Ringlets of ivy had grown around Ivan's hunting lodge, cascading over each window and both doors; entering the place was like being inside a green bubble or living under the surface of a moat. Natasha frowned as she settled Ivan in a downstairs room while Loki hovered outside. As soon as she emerged into the hallway he gripped her arms. "You are worried – why is that?"

"Yes." She shook her head. "I can smell something on Ivan. At the healers I sensed it before - an herbal smell. And it was on the bag I had to bury in your place, in the unmarked grave."

Loki exclaimed, pulled the door open, and with two long strides crossed to Ivan's pillow. He bent over the man, took in a long breath, and his voice became very grim. "You are right. I sense dittany, with rue and foxglove. This could kill him in hours, perhaps minutes…" He added a curse and pressed his ear to Ivan's chest.

For the first time in her life Natasha felt entirely useless. All she could do was watch as the prince examined her stepfather; his eyebrows drew into a deep frown. At last he rose and motioned for her to go into the hallway where he joined her and spoke in a low, serious voice. "His heart beats too slowly, and he is warmer than I would like. I'll need to go into the wood and find some plants to try and heal him."

She shook her head. "You cannot. As soon as Ivan's disappearance is discovered, the guards will be sent out in full force. We may have Astrid on our side, but her men are sworn to uphold the throne – and Lorelei now sits there."

"You would gamble your stepfather's life for mine?"

"Listen." Natasha pressed her hands to his shirtfront. She recalled waking next to him in her little bed that morning, clasped to his chest by the sleeping prince. Tempting it had been to stay, perhaps to wake him with a caress. The result would have been an enthusiastic tumble, she was sure of it, but instead Natasha had dutifully tiptoed away to meet Astrid while he slumbered on. "Could you describe what you need? I know every inch of these woods, and if the plant grows here I will find it."

"Better than that – I'll draw them. Do you have parchment and lead?"

Natasha dashed to the tiny kitchen, dark and smudged with smoke from countless ancient fires. Ivan kept old notebooks in one drawer as well as the stumps of a few pencils. Instantly Loki seized one and began to sketch quick strokes on the rough paper with long flicks of his wrist. "We'll need foxglove – yes, I know it was in the poison, but I can use it to quicken his heartbeat again. Willow bark, you know what that is. Mallow. Wild garlic. Devil's Snare for his breathing – spiked leaves with pale purple flowers shaped like tubes."

"Yes, I've seen them," Natasha said. "I know exactly where to go to find the plants." She watched his intent expression, enjoying the way he frowned slightly over the drawing. It was strange to see Loki focused on something other than her or his books.

One last instruction and he whipped the paper at her. "There. As quickly as possible." She took it and headed to the front door, before he shouted, "Natasha!"

"What is it?"

He stood in the doorway, one hand on the lintel. "For the sake of the gods and my sanity, take care."

* * *

When Natasha returned with a filled pouch, a long ribbon of curses unfurled from the kitchen as soon as she opened the door. "Bloody fire!…Bloody kettle…bloody chimney!" For the first time in days she felt laughter bubble through her like stars in Milkwood stream, and she followed the sound of Loki's furious voice. She found him in the kitchen, covered with soot. He wielded a poker in one hand, an old kettle in the other; as soon as she appeared he wheeled on her. "What does it take to light a fire in this house? A welterweight of cannon?"

"I suppose the chimneys are a bit backed up…"

"Backed up! I wouldn't be surprised if your draugr built her nest inside this mantel. I'll be damned if I can get the smoke to stop filling the entire ground floor as soon as I approach with a match." As if to prove the justice of his statement a large cloud belched forth from the hearth, and Loki flung one arm at it in angry triumph. "There. You see?"

"Why do you want to start a fire in any case?"

"For the medicine. I can't just wave the ingredients over Ivan's chest and recite an incantation."

"Fair enough." Natasha swallowed her mirth and pushed him gently to the door. "Go have a look at your patient, and I'll start the fire."

"Ha! I wish you luck and wager you cannot have it going before the turn of the hour."

"I'll take that bet." She gave him another shove. "Go on, and brush some of the soot off before you go near the new bed-linens."

* * *

When Loki reappeared looking somewhat cleaner, Natasha had the fire lit, the kettle steaming on the hearth, and the supplies from Astrid's cart stowed away in various cupboards and drawers. Strangely there were few traces of mice or rats, even though no one had been in the house for months. The plants were laid out on the table, arranged neatly by species.

He raised his eyebrows, and Natasha felt a chill in her heart. "How is he?" she asked.

"Weak, and getting weaker. Get me some of that boiling water in a pot, a knife and a mortar if you have one." He examined the limp leaves on the table and nodded. "Yes, these will do."

Natasha handed him the items, and Loki went to work. As he chopped the willow bark, slit open the foxgloves, and crushed the Devil's Snare, her curiosity grew until she could bear it no longer. "Where did you learn to do all this?"

He looked up in astonishment. "Books, of course. And – and from my mother." Instantly he resumed his preparations. Once all was ready, Loki had Natasha load a large tray with a variety of teas, salves, and drops made from the ingredients.

* * *

In the bed Ivan lay whey-faced with fever. The prince immediately started to work on him, demanding one concoction after another. Natasha responded as soon as Loki spoke, moving with the prince as though they stepped the measures of a complicated dance together – first tea, then steam, then ointment rubbed into Ivan's chest and his upper lip. In the middle of an intense bout of coughing her stepfather gasped, expelled a long sigh, and turned blue from lack of air.

Natasha froze, but Loki bent over the man, pressed both fists to his chest, and began to pummel the skin over Ivan's heart. "Breathe for him," he panted. "One hand over his nose and blow into his mouth –  _now,_  huntress!" She shook off her daze and rushed to do what he commanded. She expelled a long stream of air into the parted lips and saw Ivan's lungs expand, contract.

"And again."

Repetition. More breaths, more pressing on the old man's chest. Again. And again. Something in the old house rustled, and in that strange, green light Natasha feared it was Ivan's spirit preparing to take flight.

Just when she was about to cry out it was too late and she had lost her childhood hero, the man who rescued her when she was a bewildered child caught in the web of constant degradation at the hands of the two boys who abused her, Ivan seemed to gulp and took in a long breath on his own. The man's eyelids fluttered, and Loki nodded. "His heart. I can feel it, Natasha, beating on its own under my hands. We have done it, you and I."

* * *

The miracle was complete but healing just begun. All through that long night Loki and Natasha worked ceaselessly over their patient, coaxing him to swallow more tinctures and receive yet another of what Loki classed 'a thorough steaming.' It involved heating water over the sulky fire, plopping in a careful mixture of herbs, and holding a cup of the stuff under Ivan's chin. Throughout the fight for the man's life, Natasha heard a series of slight thumps upstairs, a series of scratches.  _Was the place haunted?_  If so, she determined to battle with the ghosts for her protector's soul.

Any interactions with the prince consisted of nothing more than muttered commands and acquiescence –  _Fetch me another pot of water this instant, Natasha_  and  _Don't knock it over, Prince Clumsy_ \- and yet Natasha felt she and Loki were closer than if they lay skin to skin in her old tree house or her maiden's bed. Her eyes burned with exhaustion; her knees shook from carrying the heavy kettle back and forth. She knew she looked a fright with her hair curling from the steam and face singed with the eternal soot; it was most unfair that Loki looked quite as elegant as usual, only purple bruises under his eyes to betray his exhaustion.

Long after midnight Ivan fell suddenly into a natural sleep, and the prince and huntress looked steadily at one another. Loki beckoned to Natasha, and she followed him into the passageway, unable to hold back a tiny sob of relief.

He removed the cup of tisane from her hands and placed it carefully on an old hall table. His lips drew back in a snarl as he seized her arms and jerked Natasha to his chest with violent passion. In the room above, something scrabbled in the eaves:  _scritch, scritch, scritch_ ; intent on each other, they both ignored the tiny sounds.

There among the ivy and soot of the old house, Loki kissed Natasha's lips, hands, and neck as though he could not bear to stop.


	11. Burglar

"He sleeps." Loki entered the kitchen with a bucket of Ivan's slops, thrust open the back door, and hurled the contents into the thick grasses with an expression of extreme distaste.

"That was well done," Natasha commented mildly. She had just brought in a fresh satchel of herbs from the woods and was engaged in sorting them at the ancient table where she had eaten bread and milk long ago as a child. "Who would have thought Prince Loki could make such an excellent healer?"

He rinsed his hands in the fresh water she had fetched from the springhouse, using a lot of soap and drying them carefully on an old towel. Loki insisted on cleanliness throughout the hunting lodge if he was to save Ivan's life. "Natasha," he began.

"Mm?" Her lips moved as she counted the sprigs of Devil's Snare.

Loki sat opposite her at the table. "I was thinking of reforming the healers throughout Asgard when we win back the throne from that Hel's bitch. It seems the current system is to wave a wand over the patients, chant some mystical words, and charge a large sum for doing so."

Natasha looked up, surprised. "An excellent scheme!"

"You seem surprised."

She tilted her head on one side, considering him. "You were so reserved when I met you, so intent on your own pleasure and solitude." There were many layers to the prince, she now saw.

He seemed to read her mind. "Like a book, perhaps, with a stained cover – and yet a marvelous story waits within." Loki nudged her foot with his, and she smiled. They had no real time for flirts nor lovemaking over the days in the hunting lodge, since one of them had to watch Ivan's sleep in shifts. When her guardian awoke, they had to change his sheets and nightclothes, take care of the most basic physical functions – bathing, slops…it was foul work at times, with no end in sight and no kisses to make it any lighter.

Natasha was about to tell him some of her thoughts and give Loki a sprig of rare praise, when a crash was heard in the room above. Her heart froze, and she met his startled gaze with her own. "What was it?" she started.

Loki rose and pressed her shoulder. "Stay here," he cautioned.

"Nonsense! I can't just sit and…"

He stopped in the doorway and raised one finger. "Do as I say, Natasha, or I will throttle you. Do you understand?" Murder written on his face, Loki cursed and disappeared up the steps that were so old they bowed in the centers from centuries of use.

With a long grumble about the arrogance of princes, Natasha sat back at the table. She had lost her place in counting, and she spewed a few curses of her own as she swept the herbs together. Upstairs there was a series of thumps that had her reaching for her hunting knife; just as she was about to ignore his command and bound after him the sounds were succeeded by Loki's laughter and his rapid steps hurtling down the stairs.

He burst into the room, holding up a small tabby cat by the scruff of its neck. "Behold our intruder! I suppose it explains the lack of mice."

The cat twisted and snarled in his long fingers; Natasha hurried to fetch a pot of gravy she had cooling for dinner. "And it explains the missing rabbit leg yesterday! Well, Miss Thief, what have you got to say for yourself?" She poured out a saucer of the gravy and held it out for the cat.

Twitching its whiskers, the tabby slid out of Loki's hand towards the saucer. Its hunger overcame its wild nature, and with growls of satisfaction the cat began to eat. Loki knelt to watch the animal, rays of laughter around his eyes. When the cat finished the meal it seemed to consider him a friend; the tabby walked to the prince and began to polish its head against his tall boots.

"'Twould seem I have a rival!" Natasha snickered.

"What shall we call our new friend?"

"Hm. She is as light as a feather, but that is far too lovely a name for such a thief." Cautiously Natasha held out her hand; the tabby sniffed it several times before returning to Loki's boots.

"Indeed. She is a most accomplished burglar."

"Burglar. She is our own Burglar."

Loki stood and lifted Burglar into his arms; instantly the cat began to purr loudly. "Very well, but outside for your business. I've cleaned enough slops for one day."

* * *

Astrid had sent the best of supplies – dried fruits, a small store of spices, preserved eggs, more oats and barley, strings of onions, hard cheese, pemmican and ship's biscuits. She hadn't bothered with more luxurious fare such as weevil-prone flour or sugar. With Natasha's bow, the huntress was able to supplement the food and create an array of soups and stews as well as the eternal porridge, even though Loki complained about the dearth of bread and cakes when he had a moment to consider his belly in between tending to Ivan.

Natasha put some of her latest concoction into a bowl, added tea and ship's biscuit, and bore the tray to the sickroom. The sound of voices within made her pause on the threshold. "She was abused daily," Ivan was saying. "When I took her as my daughter, at first she was like your new cat – mistrustful, almost feral. We took to hunting as a way to work out her violence and righteous anger, and she was a natural from the start."

"I know you are there," Loki said in a louder voice.

She frowned and opened the door with her hip before placing the tray carefully on Ivan's bedside table. "Must you gossip about me like old church wardens?" she demanded.

Entirely at his ease, Loki stretched out his long legs and stroked Burglar, who had coiled into a round fur button on his lap. "Ivan has promised to teach me to hunt when he recovers."

"Wait until all of Asgard knows you are alive for that," she snapped.

Ivan chuckled before picking up the tea and sniffing it. "Why must it taste like winter drawers dunked in boiling water?"

"Drink it anyway while you complain. It'll do you good, and your sharp tongue will add spice," Loki said.

"Humph. Will you grant me a game of Knave's Ha'penny if I do?"

"Will you beat me hollow again?" Loki turned to Natasha with a wry grin. "I already owe your stepfather two chests of gold."

"How about some sleep first for our patient?" she asked.

"I'm tired of sleeping, and this bed is becoming a dungeon. I'm ready to get on my own two feet and go into the woods, feel a knife in my hands, the wind on my face…"

"Waxing poetic and complaints to boot," Loki commented. "It seems you continue to thrive, Ivan."

* * *

This proved correct. After a few more days, Ivan was able to get up and sit by the fire "like an old woman," he complained after Natasha loaded her stepfather with blankets over his knees. Next Loki permitted him to get up and walk, and at last Ivan was allowed outside to sit on the steps and drowse in the late summer sun. Burglar joined him there, and the old man stroked the cat on the stone step. Natasha, watching them through the wavy panes of glass in the kitchen window, imagined they both twitched their ears at sounds in the forest: two predators ready for the hunt.

Loki joined her at the glass, and carefully he spanned her waist from behind with his hands. "He does well, better than I ever expected."

"Thanks to you." Natasha twisted and pressed herself against the prince's chest. "You have been a real warrior in the fight for my father's life, and I will never forget it."

He hummed with pleasure and drew her close. "So sweet, little one, after weeks of prickly barbs! I thought I loved a hedgepig, not a beautiful huntress." She tipped back her head and they laughed together, luxuriating in one rare moment of peace. "It's nice in this house," Loki continued. "Quiet. Warm. I'd like to return one day."

"Best not tempt fate with wishes or promises now." Still, Natasha dared to go on tiptoe and press her lips to the deep dimples on either side of his mouth. So intent on him, she missed the flurry by the door until Ivan cleared his throat loudly.

Self-consciously Natasha and Loki broke apart. Something was wrong – she could see it in her guardian's face. "What has happened?" Loki asked in a deadly voice.

"A rider comes this way," Ivan replied.

* * *

Loki and Ivan were stowed upstairs along with a very grumpy Burglar. Natasha waited by the window, heart pounding under her stained shirt. Soon the sound of hoofbeats came closer, and she gripped her sharpened knife tightly, ready to defend the men she loved to the death _. If anyone tries to take Loki or Ivan,_  she reasoned,  _I will have their eyes before they can …_

Those bloodthirsty thoughts were stilled as a dark shape stopped and the rider jumped off his horse. A bolt of recognition shot through her, and she called out to Loki, "Your brother! It is only Prince Thor!"

Loki arrived in the kitchen the same moment Thor knocked, and when he opened the door his brother grasped him and drew him into a strong hug. "For the sake of the gods and my liver!" Loki protested. "Do not actually crush me…"

"What is it?" Natasha could see lines of desperation in Thor's face and the way he held Loki, so close as if he wanted to absorb his brother into his own body. "What has happened?"

Thor released Loki and smeared a silver trail of tears away with one fist. "Astrid," he said. "The guardswoman - do you remember her? I intended to meet her for another load of food and supplies – we were supposed to reunite in the place in the wall." He turned to Natasha. "You know the one."

A cold hand seized her heart. "No," she said. Natasha remembered the last time she had seen the guardswoman, standing in the shaft of early sunlight. For a moment it seemed Astrid was in the room, her hair shining like silver as she laughed over some memory of Loki.

"She was – she was there. Natasha, someone found her and slit her chin to belly. Astrid's body was hung up in the space where she waited with food for you and the prince, faithful to the last." Thor covered his face with both hands.

Loki cast around the room, picked up a jug, and threw it at the wall with a mighty smash. "I knew her since we were children!" he shouted. "Save my mother and Natasha, she was the one person who understood me!"

"You are not alone, Prince." Ivan touched Loki's shoulder. "We may be small in number and weakened, but you have friends."

"'Tis true." Thor nodded. "I shall ever stand by your side."

Natasha said nothing, but she linked her little finger through Loki's, and with a great groan he turned and pulled her into a tight embrace. "I will kill her for this," he vowed. No one had to ask whom he meant. Silence choked the green bubble of the house, punctuated by Loki's sobs and Thor's heavy breathing.

"We must leave this instant," Natasha said firmly. "If the queen knows about Astrid, the hunting lodge is next."

Loki raised his head and looked around the little kitchen. Burglar came forward with a loud Mrorrw and rose onto her back legs, looking for gravy and the remains of cold rabbit. "I hate to go," the prince said softly. "I was happier here than ever before – it seemed I had a place in the world, one of my own creation." He shook his head as if to cast off his own sorrow and addressed Ivan. "What of you?"

Ivan lifted his chin. "I am strong enough to ride."

"Take my horse," Thor added. "Along with the cart mount you have in the stable, Sleipnir will do for a short escape into the next kingdom. There we can start a diplomatic pledge for soldiers and weapons."

Natasha nodded. "Yes. I'll stow a light bag of supplies, and we will ride in one hour. Less if Ivan is prepared."

"Go to Vaneheim," Thor directed, "and I will meet you there as soon as I can. We have friends there, Loki. Do you remember the Lady Sif? She is pure of heart and has promised her help. If you can reach her estates, her brother will give us all the aid we need to start a campaign."

"You introduced me to her at Fandral's party," Natasha recalled. "She seemed like a straight-forward person."

"Can we really trust her?" Loki's elegant nostrils twitched with fury.

"Brother, I am as good as promised to her."

Natasha caught Loki's eye. "We have no time for anything else," she reminded him.

"Look." Quickly Thor seized one of Loki's plant sketches and smeared the delicate drawing with his palm to draw a quick map. "We are here in the forest. If you ride east and take this fork in the road, it will bring you straight to Heimdall's manse – one night's ride. I will meet you there in three days, with Lady Sif herself."

"But is she trustworthy? Yes, I see you are dizzied by her beauty, Thor, but can we depend on her? After all, our father chose the worst wife imaginable…" Loki's frown deepened.

Natasha started to speak, but Thor put both hands on Loki's shoulders. "Our father married sight unseen from duty instead of love. The Lady Sif is strong and utterly loyal to our mother the Queen Frigga, I can promise you this. No worries, Loki - your band of friends grows." It was a slender thread of hope he offered, slim as the reeds by Milkwood stream where she had bathed with Loki in a mirror of stars.  _Gods help us!_  she thought.

"Thor, if this endangers Natasha in any way I will punch you in the throat," Loki exploded.

"I can take care of myself, and we are wasting time in argument. Pick up that map while I pack, and prepare what medicines you can for Ivan. Thor, feed and water your horse. Ivan, the cart mounts are in the old stables." Natasha turned away, ready to leap into action, but Loki's firm hand stopped her.

"Huntress, in front of these assembled here, I pledge you my troth. When this nonsense is complete you will have my hand and heart. And by the way, I go nowhere without our Burglar."


	12. Flight

Thor's map in hand, Loki led the way on the larger of the two carthorses. Natasha followed on Sleipnir with Ivan seated behind her on the saddle, his pale forearms speckled with disease in the late afternoon sun. They carried packs of supplies hanging from their saddles: dried apples, hard cheese, spiced sausage in silver paper, and stone bottles of water in case they should find none on the way to Vaneheim. Naturally she also included more of Loki's medicines so they could dose Ivan later. In addition, Burglar sat in a pack on Loki's back, the cat's nose twitching as they cantered towards an unknown destination.

"There is a series of forks in the road we must negotiate," Loki called, his profile sharp against the light green of the leaves. Natasha restrained her admiration of the hawked nose and strong chin. They were reaching the edge of Milkwood, and she had to keep her wits unclouded as the road led to more open fields. Any hidden guard or soldier could pick Loki off with one sure arrow. Natasha felt her ears twitch much like Burglar's as she watched for an enemy in the branches and hedgerows ahead.

"Have you got the map straight?" she asked. "We can survive two, maybe three nights with my knife and our supplies. After that we will need a patron."

"And a bed for Ivan." Loki twisted in his saddle and indicated her stepfather, drowsing on Sleipnir's back with his head against Natasha's shoulder. "He is not strong enough to last in the wilderness for very long."

"We will accomplish this – your intelligence and my blade will carry us through." She spoke with more confidence than she felt. They seemed such a weak little band of travelers as they rode among the huge trees of the wood. Even Loki, with his knowledge, strength, and arrogance could be taken down in an instant with Lorelei's dark magic and the power of the throne. It had been nothing more than Natasha's stubborn nature and sheer luck that had gotten them so far down the road. In order to keep those worries at bay she demanded, "Tell me about your childhood. Ivan described mine to you, and I'd like to have the same privilege."

His profile creased with a grin as those lines she was starting to love popped up around his mouth. "I see I have become enchanted by a shrew. Very well, if you must know all about the shadow who flickered at the edge of Thor's brilliance – the entire court was eclipsed by his bright promise, his strength, his height. King Odin used to carry my brother on his shoulder, exulting in the unquestioned heir to the throne."

"I asked about you, not Thor," Natasha snapped. "Furthermore, the shadows are a very useful place to be at times. No one sees what you do until it is too late if you flicker at the edges of their vision."

At that he twisted further, his elegant lips opening in surprise. "Indeed," Loki added in a softer voice. "Certainly I spend my time in the shadows, as you say. There I studied the herbs and plants as well. The idea I could influence someone's life one day transfixed me, although I knew I would never be allowed to do it…"

"Now I see the advantage of this dreadful situation we find ourselves in," Natasha interrupted. "I am sorry you have lost so much, Loki, but as a result you have saved the most important thing in my life, as I told you this morning. If you  _had_  been the shining center of your father's life and the favored son, you would never have studied your herbs and plants and Ivan would have perished. I'm afraid I'm selfish enough to be glad about that.  _And_  it is only the beginning. Once you triumph over the queen – and you will – there are others at the hands of the healers who will need your help. This adventure has shown you a way out of the shadows into your own brilliance."

Silence followed her pronouncement. Far off a lark sketched hoops and bows in the air in a final flight before darkness fell. Natasha followed its figures and felt uneasy. Something, her hunter's instincts told her, was growing closer.

"Natasha, I love you," Loki declared, making her start with surprise. "You did cut out my heart that day, although neither of us had any idea at the time. If we end up in a hovel within Vaneheim scrabbling for a living from a forest I would be happy to do so at your side."

* * *

They stopped much later, since Ivan had developed a dry, constant cough Loki didn't like. Natasha dug out a sleep space for them in the bush with her knife and tethered the mounts further away, just close enough to be under her eye but not drawing attention to their location.

She lit a small fire to cook their meal and warm Ivan's tinctures under Loki's direction. As the prince held the concoction to the man's lips, Natasha served up hard tack and broasted rabbit on flat pieces of bark to serve as plates. Loki pronounced it 'Swill' but ate in any case. Ivan picked at a small piece and fell asleep sitting up.

"I must extinguish the fire." Natasha tamped down the flames with rocks she had prepared for that purpose, and a bluish gloom fell over their faces.

"That was well done." Loki's tone was mild, as though he were an old friend or even a brother. It was all the more surprising, then, when he growled, "There are some fires you can never put out, Huntress." His whisper fell right against Natasha's ear, and she couldn't help a gasp in response. The next moment he had her head cradled in one large palm so he could kiss her with intensity. His hot breath surged into her mouth and on her cheek. Before she knew what was happening, Natasha found herself in Loki's lap, both of them whimpering with want, her fingers wound into his hair while he dragged back her curls so he could claim her.

"We can't…" Natasha bit his lower lip.

Loki groaned. "I know. I just - can't – stop…" Each word was punctuated with desperate embraces, a welcome assault.

"Ivan sleeps next to us…it's not fitting..."

"I know…I know…" Loki rolled into the grass and dust so she lay underneath the entire length of him, and Natasha cried out at the sensation of his hardness against the soft skin of her inner thighs.

"We can't…"

Loki laughed suddenly against her lips. "Then stop," he teased. "Stop kissing me." In response Natasha arched up, clasped his broad shoulder and slender waist, wound one leg around his. Only her thin leathers and the broadcloth of his breeches, now worn to shreds in places, held them back – bands so slender Natasha felt they could burst their boundaries and melt into one. Loki's heartbeat was a frantic drum against her own thunder. The flesh made numb after a long day in the saddle woke with a roar, fluttering and creaming between her legs. She knew if she made one motion to unbutton her shirt or loosen her hunter's breeches it would all be over in minutes, so desperate were they to be inside each other.

"Natasha." Her name was a quiet plea on his lips, begging her for what he desired so badly. Gods help her, she was about to struggle to her feet, hold out one hand for his, pull him into the woods away from Ivan and let him have her against a tree, because she simply could not wait one second longer. She tightened her arms around his neck, eyes widening in the darkness as his caresses became bolder…

She stopped moving. Above her, the leaves trembled in a four-part rhythm, stopped, trembled again. And again.

"Loki." Legs trembling with frustrated passion, Natasha pushed him off her and got to her knees. "Those leaves, do you see it?"

"What? What do you – I see only you! Please, for the love of my sanity, come into the woods this instant and lie with me." She could see the whites of his eyes, tortured with lust.

"There is an army headed this way. We have perhaps half an hour before they arrive."

That brought him to his senses. He jumped to his feet, clasped her forearm and helped her up. Together they looked at Ivan, utterly silent and unmoving under Loki's old cloak. Her stepfather had to be ill indeed if an oncoming cavalry didn't wake him. He was the one who had taught her the signs in the first place, all those years ago. "You can ride with him to Sif's house," Loki declared. "I'll double back and head off Lorelei."

"A noble offer, but we both know she wants my head as well as yours and won't stop until she gets it." Loki protested, but a deadly calm came over Natasha. "You pledged me your troth several times, Prince, and now I demand what you have promised me. Send Ivan on Sleipnir – 'tis a good horse, and the steed might arrive close enough to the Lady Sif's house to save my father's life if fortune smiles on us for once. We will tie a message onto the bridle, as well as a jewel or a bag of gold…"

"Damn you." Loki still breathed heavily, although whether it was from anger or their recent kisses Natasha had no way of telling. "How  _dare_  you use my vows of love to request such a dreadful thing? To place your life in danger? It is a heresy against my very heart and soul. This is an outrage, Natasha!"

Her own heart aching, Natasha frowned deeply so her chin wouldn't tremble and betray her. "Think of it. We were always doomed, is that not so? except we were always too willful to admit it. If we can save one life tonight, it will make me happy."

"Damn you," he repeated, but he dragged a gold chain off his neck and held it out to her. "Take this to tie to the bridle, and I will scribe the message."

* * *

Once the note was written, Loki lifted Ivan with utmost gentleness and placed him into Sleipnir's saddle. Natasha tied the bag of medicines with the letter and the gold to the reins. Loki caught the horse's bridle and whispered into one flickering ear, but she couldn't hear the prince's words. He followed with a slap to the stallion's rump, and the horse cantered into the trees. Eventually the hoofbeats died out, and silence poured over them.

"I suppose it is time to face the bitch." Loki looked around and exclaimed, "Burglar! Did you see where she went?"

"Pss pss pss," Natasha whispered. There was no response. He joined in calling for the cat, but it seemed their Burglar had disappeared.

With a heavy heart Natasha climbed into the saddle of the carthorse behind the prince. The mount was broad and slow – no matter, since they planned to ride directly into the sights of the oncoming army. She wound one arm around Loki's waist and forced herself to think of other things – the damage to her little tree house, all the work she would have to do in her own cottage, plans to raise business so she could buy soap and clean her floors until they shone. Simple, everyday plans, never to be carried out.

"I'll never forgive you for putting your life in Lorelei's hands," Loki said suddenly, and his fury scattered her thoughts. With only the nittering of the annoyed cart mare to distract her from their final quarrel, Loki and Natasha rode towards the cavalry.


	13. Madness

Loki slowed the mare to a walk and finally pulled up on the reins before turning to Natasha. "If we send the horse in, we'll have a few more minutes together. I know there's no hope for us, huntress, but at least we can say goodbye."

She nodded, and he jumped down, helped her out of the saddle, and slapped the mare's hindquarters. Affronted, the horse took off, and they heard its hoofbeats die out. Natasha pulled him into the cover of the trees, where Loki gasped and pulled her into his arms. "I…" he started. "You…I never meant to involve you in any of this…"

"You daft bugger." Natasha pressed against him, and he felt her smile through the thin stuff of his shirt as well as a tiny point of moisture, spreading over the worn material where she screwed her eyes against his chest. "I was involved from the very beginning. Loki, we have only moments left."

He meant to tell her again what she was to him, but their impending capture froze the words on his tongue. "I'm such a fool," he said. "You deserved better."

"Oh, be quiet for once." Natasha seized his collar and pulled him in for a deep kiss. He clung to her waist, pulled her up with one hand on her rump so she was up on her toes. Such a tiny thing, and he wanted to taste every morsel of her: bad temper, practical streak, naughty humor, each part. Her tongue flickered against his, and even in their desperate position he felt himself grow hard against her belly. He would gift them this, Loki decided – one moment of fantasy, their own fairy tale. Although they stood knee deep in brambles with a marauding horde seconds away, he closed his eyes and pretended he kissed her by their stream of stars, that she wore his standard at her throat, and they were promised to each other.

Perhaps Natasha felt his imaginings as she pressed closer, humming a little against his lips. Sweet… it was sweeter than spiced wine, than honey – his own huntress, melting under his touch.

He knew their kiss was an audacious flip of the dice, but when the hands appeared out of the darkness Loki was outraged. A knife was held at his neck, and several guards pulled a struggling Natasha out of his grasp. "Don't move or I'll slice the girl's throat," a soldier hissed. They were hard-faced men, tall and battle-weary in appearance. Loki recognized none of them. The new queen must have replaced the familiar guards with her own army, and Loki's cry to forsake the queen, to join him and avenge the guardswoman Astrid, died on his lips. The garrison surrounding Loki and Natasha wanted nothing of honor or fealty. No, they worked for pay and food in their bellies. He could see it in their stony faces, and so could Natasha – she gave him a tiny shake of the head as they stared into each other's eyes, pupils blown wide with longing and defeat.

"Bring them onto the road," a lilting voice called.

_Lorelei._  Loki closed his eyes and set his jaw. Of course she was there to watch his final downfall.

He felt the armored soldiers drag him to the dusty road, heard Natasha prodded behind him with a muffled hiss as one of the guards pushed her harder than she expected. There, in the light of lanterns held up by more guards, Lorelei sat sidesaddle on a white charger, her dark riding habit cascading over her horse's flanks. Her chestnut braids were caught up in a severe style to emphasize her delicate good looks. When the group rode back to the palace with Loki and Natasha in tow, Lorelei's skirts and the feathers from her saucy hat would wave in the wind after her, and any man in the retinue's path would follow the Queen's dashing appearance with lusting eyes.

Loki flung back his head and suppressed the disgust he felt in front of that full-blown beauty. Natasha was dragged to his side, and defiantly he caught the huntress's hand in his. He would stand with her to the very end, by the gods! "Oh, Prince Loki," Lorelei laughed. With one lithe twist she dropped out of the saddle, caught up her long skirt, and stalked to confront him. "You have such poor taste in women, darling. Won't you reconsider?" Her skin seemed to glow with cleanliness, and he could smell the lily-of-the-valley she used in her bath. White, even teeth bit one red lower lip as Lorelei darted a glance at the travel-stained figure of Natasha, standing calmly at Loki's side.

Deliberately Loki wrested his arm from one of the guards and pulled Natasha in for one last kiss. "You are the loveliest woman I have ever seen, huntress," he said into the smudged face and tangled curls, and his heart bled when a tear dropped from her eyelashes to leave a trail through the dirt on her cheeks.

"Loki…" she began, but Lorelei interrupted.

"You shall pay for that little display, Prince. Bring her to the cage, and under my orders the traitorous huntress shall have no food for two days."

Natasha threw him one final glance as she was dragged away. He struggled and called her name, but a heavy club descended on his head. He tried to shout that he loved her, but the night exploded into stars.

* * *

The world resolved into a slotted window shot through with black bars and blurred vision. Loki blinked, moaned, and squinted with surprise as long, red curls tumbled over his chest.

"Do you feel better, darling?"

Lorelei's voice. He shuddered and reached for the curls, intending to bind Natasha to his side. She would keep the impostor queen away from them. "Huntress," he gurgled.

"For the sake of the gods!" The tresses were whisked out of his hand, and a slim figure turned its back on him. Loki groaned and sat up, wincing at the pain shooting through his skull. The room still whirled around him, and slowly he focused on the person at the foot of the bed where he lay. Lorelei tapped one toe with annoyance, and her fingers fiddled with the gold fabric of her dress.

He had to hold back a loud gust of laughter when he saw the Queen had dyed her hair red. It lay in curls down her back, coils of careful disarray that was overly bright against the ornate gown. "Red," he croaked.

She whirled back to his side, knelt by his pillow, and captured his hand in hers. "Do you like it, darling? All you had to say was you preferred redheads, and I could have appeared thus months ago. All this nonsense could have been avoided. We have both been very silly, is that not so? But I forgive you."

Her eyes were bright as stars. Careful maquillage had given her a complexion like silk, with a slight blush over high cheekbones. The ringlets, still bearing the marks of curling papers and irons, framed Lorelei's perfect, oval face. A gold circlet inset with emeralds circled her white brow, and more green stones winked at her throat and breasts.

Loki regarded her for a long moment. Deliberately he cupped Lorelei's head in his palm and drew her down for a kiss. She hummed with surprise and framed his face with her fingers, an elegant trophy for any prince.

Just as her lips parted and her quickened breath mingled with his, Loki let go suddenly and tipped his head back. "There you are," he said. "Now you know."

An adorable dent appeared between her fine eyebrows, signaling delicate confusion as she tried to kiss him again. "Know what, darling?"

"What you will never have again." Loki bit each word off with precision and avoided her touch. "And what the Huntress Natasha Romanov will  _always_  have. Do you know what you look like with your reddened curls and stolen silks, Lorelei? You are a pathetic child screaming for a toy simply because it is the only one out of reach. Natasha's hair may be uncombed, but it is a work of the gods. Your curls, on the other hand, come from the sweat of your chambermaids, and I heartily pity each one who has to put up with you. Take your cheap and tawdry self out of my sight."

She drew back, and he seemed to see the jeweled reptile in the queen again, just as Natasha had described. Lorelei was a snake – and ready to strike.

Strike she did, with the elegant fingers now curled into claws. Her nails raked his cheek in a ringing slap, and Loki laughed at her as temper whistled in her breath. He could see the effort it took for her to restrain herself from launching herself at him with the dagger she probably had hidden: a crimson and gold tempest.

Slowly Lorelei drew herself up to her full height. As Loki struggled to stand up and face her, she shook her head. "No need to get up, Prince. Everything has become very clear. You have explained your position perfectly – and now allow me to explain mine."

He got to his feet anyway, realizing he still wore the blood and earth-stained clothes from their flight into the forest. "Oh, please do," Loki drawled.

"Very well." Lorelei darted her face forward into his and hissed, "By the time the next full moon arrives, you will love me to distraction. You will beg for my hand, and you will no longer recognize any other woman in the kingdom, especially your beloved huntress – in fact, you will hate her most of all. I will become your entire universe, and you will weep with happiness when I finally allow you to put your ring on my finger."

He laughed again, happiness surging through his veins. She truly was ridiculous! He and Natasha could easily defeat her – why had they waited so long? A few days more and Loki would have Lorelei pinned under his boot, squirming and begging for mercy. One swish of the axe, and she would bother Asgard no longer with her freaks and tantrums. He would free Natasha from Lorelei's clutches, and together they would restore the kingdom of Asgard to its former glory in the name of the true Queen: Frigga, his mother.

"Remove yourself from my sight," he repeated. "It sickens me to look at your artifice."

Lorelei turned suddenly, yanked the door open, and slammed it shut behind her. The bang echoed throughout the chamber, making Loki's head ache. He slumped and raised one hand to his brow, shaking with weariness, before he gathered himself and went to the door. As he had suspected, it was locked. He knocked and shouted for help, but of course those attempts were greeted by silence.

"Damnation," Loki swore. He went to the window, which was also bolted shut. The room was an old one in an unused wing of the palace, where he and Thor played Hide and Find when they were children. If only the room didn't whirl so around him! Loki staggered back to the bed and collapsed among the crumpled sheets and tossed pillows. He could have done with a plate of Natasha's cold duck, but there was nothing in the old room except the bed he lay in and a few sticks of old furniture. Exhaustion crashed over him in waves, and he thought the blow he had received might have rattled his brains more than he first thought.

* * *

When Loki awoke again, a common enough problem presented itself. Luckily there was a chamberpot under the bed, and he availed himself of it. The room still spun, but not quite so sickeningly, and he found he was able to get up and prowl around the walls. The windows were still bolted, as was the door. There was nothing to do but sit with an old book filled with saccharine love poems he had always despised for the poet's florid style and obsequious wording. A few pages of the drivel and Loki was ready to heave it at the wall, but the book could make a weapon, or he could use the endpapers for a note to Natasha later. That in mind, he slid the volume under one pillow and waited.

A sly smile stretched over his face as the door opened, and one of Lorelei's guards entered with a tray of food covered by a starched and embroidered cloth. "The Queen thought you might be hungry," the fellow growled.

Loki lifted the cloth, and his stomach growled. A thick beefsteak wafting under a buttery sauce was flanked by tiny potatoes, new peas, and exquisite rolls of bread. He had nearly forgotten how delicious real food could be after weeks of hard tack and spoils from the forest. "You know she is an impostor," he said through gritted teeth. "Lorelei is not the queen of Asgard, nor of anywhere other than Hell."

The guard looked at him for a moment. Loki didn't care, too busy stuffing a roll into his mouth. "Allow me to take this, Your Highness," the fellow said, lifting the chamberpot.

Once Loki would have ignored the action, but carrying Ivan's slops had made him sensitive to the realities of life. "I am sorry you have to do such a disgusting thing," he said, putting down the bread. "When my brother the prince is back on the throne where he belongs, I will reward you with silver."

"And I am sorry as well." The guard lifted the pot, calmly poured the contents over Loki's meal, and set it back on the floor. He wiped his hands on the embroidered cloth, slapped it over one shoulder, and bowed. "Good evening to you, Your Highness."

Loki felt his jaw drop as he regarded the ruined food, and the gorge rose in his throat. Disgust nearly made him vomit, adding to the foul stench in the room. It was at that moment the sheer enormity of the queen's evil poured over him like a deluge of slimed creatures.

Deliberately ruining her stepson's food for nothing more than sport was worse than evil – it was sick, depraved madness. The woman had lost her mind. Loki was certain he would find his way out of his current predicament after he slept and formed a plan. That wasn't the problem. No, what worried him was Natasha, sitting like a direct target in the dungeons underneath the palace.

Natasha, his strong little huntress. Loki had told her he would never forgive her, but if she had appeared in front of him in that locked room, he would fall to his knees and beg her to be his. "I'm sorry," he gasped, clutching the sheet as though he could hold the hem of her coat. "Please, Natasha, take care."

A constant thread of fear pulsed in his heart.  _What did Lorelei have in store for the huntress?_


	14. Poison

The cell was small by palace standards but still larger than Natasha's bedroom. The guards slung her inside, slammed the bars shut, and secured the lock with several keys one carried on a large chain around his waist. She heard the heavy tramp of their boots as they disappeared into the dark hallway and up the long flight of steps.

As soon as she was certain they were gone, Natasha removed a little flask she had stolen from one of the soldiers during the ride back to Asgard. With a muttered prayer to Frigga, she uncorked the bottle and sniffed – pure water, thank the gods, and not cheap gin. Carefully she placed in the far corner and looked around the cell. There was a thin pallet in the middle, which she dragged to the corner furthest from the barred door. The neighboring cell on her right was separated by more bars, and something small moved within its shadows. Natasha ignored it for the time being and concentrated on creating a place where she could exist for the next few days – weeks? months? – without losing her sanity.

When she was a girl, the brothers who abused her sometimes held her in a root cellar for hours - once for several days. During those times she learned quickly that life descended into a series of basic necessities: Water, first. Sanity, second, followed by sleep and food. She had already secured the first two and would do her best to get the rest.

"Hullo, gurlie," the inhabitant of the neighboring cell said. It spoke with a voice that was hoarse from disuse. "Wut y'after then?"

"Settling in." Natasha spoke shortly, intent on her cell. Among the moldy straw lining the place she found a short stick, perfect for the next step. With quick movements she divided the cell into four parts. Where the pallet lay would be her bedroom, and the corner with the water flask would be for mediation and thought. Another quarter she would use for her privy – it lay in front of the barred passage, but there was nothing she could do about that. The final quarter would be for eating, as soon as she actually was given a meal. If Lorelei held true to her word, Natasha would have to wait several days.

"Ugly," the voice continued. The shadow came forward and grasped two of the bars between their cells before he pointed to the room that lay across the hall – another barred cell.

Carefully Natasha hid the flask under more straw in her Sanity 'room' and placed the stick next to it. "You wouldn't look too pretty after the day I've had either," she retorted.

The shadow laughed, a long gurgling snort of mirth. "Nay, y'urt a beauty compared t'Ugly over there. See? Hullo, Ugly!"

Natasha looked at the direction the shadow pointed out. An emaciated figure stood there, its arms tucked around itself. When it heard the shadow's greeting, the figure howled and hid its bald head with clawed fingers. It was impossible to tell if it were a man or a woman as it shrieked and pounded its body against the bars.

"What's your name?" she asked the shadow next to her. Hopefully Ugly would stop shouting if the attention were removed.

"Ah. T'name's Grub. As in the maggot, eh? Not t'food. Food. Time for food!" Grub began to rattle his own cage, shouting into the hall. Ugly's cries joined his, and Natasha decided it was time to withdraw to the room she had set aside for sanity.

There she piled straw to give herself somewhere to sit. Two days she had to endure until a meal arrived. The flask, by its weight, would give her about a mouthful every few hours. It would have to be enough. She uncorked the bottle, took a quick drink, and savored the water on her tongue before she restoppered the bottle and hid it again. With the stick, Natasha scratched out a smooth place in the dirt floor and listed a schedule for herself: once the ruckus died down she would resume her conversation with Grub. She would sleep and have another drink when she woke. She would try to keep her cell as clean as possible, although for the moment she had to conserve her strength. And she would do her best to get to know the guard with the keys.

It was a different man who returned with a bucket of stew. The guard shoved bowls at Ugly and Grub, who seized it and poured the contents into his mouth. From the flaming brand in the corridor, Natasha was able to see Grub's appearance: a small being, short enough to be a dwarf, if such things existed.

Ugly put the bowl on the floor before covering its face. The thing began to cry with great sobs that racked its frame, as though it had broken its heart. When it squatted again to lift the bowl, Ugly's rags shifted, and Natasha could clearly see it was a female. Whoever Ugly was, she seemed appalled to be in such squalor.

"Wine!" Ugly called out. "Where is my wine?" She had a high-class voice, as though she were used to ordering quantities of servants around.

"No wine here, duchess," Grub cried.

"I've got Ugly's vintage ready," the guard laughed. He faced her cage, and Natasha heard the rustle of buttons being undone, followed by a long splash of urine. Ugly shrieked and retreated to the far corner, covering her shorn head with her arms. The guard laughed and withdrew, carrying his bucket of stew.

As expected, Natasha received nothing.

She took off her jacket, brushed the dirt off as well as she could, and folded it at the foot of her pallet. Arms folded around her for comfort and warmth, Natasha slid into a tortured kind of sleep, chased by crowned skeletons on horseback who hunted her for sport.

* * *

Morning, such as it was, brought more of the same. Natasha awoke to a loud harangue between Ugly and Scrub, both insisting the other was a 'little shit' and a 'right fucker.' She sat up, shaking the cobwebs of sleep away, and pushed her hair out of her face. Hunger made her angry, and she nearly joined in the shouting match to tell them to leave it off before she recalled it would use up precious reserves of energy, the last she had left.

Instead Natasha crawled to her Sanity quarter, sat on the pile of straw, and drank a small sip of water. She closed her eyes and imagined she was back in the stream, floating among the stars that wheeled overhead, reflected in the ripples.

Such thoughts led to Loki, and she sighed. What wouldn't she give to wake from this horror as a terrible dream, held in his arms after making love all night? He would be tender and passionate if they had been able to lie together, she was certain. The prince's virility was strong, worn like an accustomed garment. Was Lorelei testing that male dominance now, taunting him with her beauty and wiles?

Natasha shook those mental pictures away. There was nothing to be done about it in any case, and she would only sear herself with such thoughts.

* * *

Breakfast came and went – bowls of cold porridge. There was none for Natasha. Instead she concentrated on plans, scratching line after line of ideas for getting her hands on the chain of keys.

Lunch came and went – bowls of warm soup. There was none for Natasha.

And dinner, more of the same. She went to her 'bedroom', hugged her knees, and consoled herself that she had survived day one of starvation.

Except the next day would be much harder.

* * *

Natasha's dreams were of her belly – of large animals raking her gut with their claws, of getting punched in the stomach again and again until she heaved up the contents. As before, she was awoken by Grub and Ugly shouting at each other.

"You disgust me!" he shrieked.

"And you will always be foul!" she hurled back. "At least when  _I_  get out, I will recover my looks!"

Shooting out of bed, Natasha strode to the bars. "Be quiet, both of you. At least you got fed yesterday. All I had was air. I'm ready to gnaw on someone's face, so if you don't want my teeth in your skin, shut it. I won't say it again."

This was met with a stunned silence. "They gave you nothing at all?" Grub asked.

"The queen has decided I'm to suffer for what someone else said." Natasha couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice. Weak with hunger, she felt she hated Loki at that moment for putting her through such deprivation. It had been his actions that made Lorelei pile on the extra punishment.

"Lorelei is such a scurvy bitch," Ugly exploded. "Everyone thought she was so beautiful. We all fawned over her, gave her gifts and invitations…"

"Hang on," Natasha said slowly. "Do you mean to say you were a member of the court? That you knew the queen personally?"

"Of course not," Grub jeered. "T's'all a farce, see! Ugly thinks Ugly was Pretty once upon a time, but 'tis impossible."

"Shut up, Grub," Natasha retorted. Her brain whirled, and she peered through the bars at Ugly, cowering in her cell. She could see the prisoner more clearly, now that her eyes had grown accustomed to the dim light. Someone had shorn off the woman's hair so thoroughly it had left scars in her scalp, although a few black tufts showed the original color. Ugly moved to wipe away tears with her wrist, and for a moment Natasha felt a bolt of recognition.

Then dull, stupid hunger washed over her, and it was gone.

* * *

Breakfast arrived. There was none for Natasha.

Lunch arrived. Nothing.

She lay on her pallet, too weak to sit anywhere else. Whenever she thought she might faint, Natasha dragged out the little flask and had a few drops of water. It was the only thing keeping her from banging her head against the bars or scraping her wrists on the sharpest surface she could find until she bled out.

Dinner arrived, brought by several guards. Not moving, Natasha heard the splash of stew in bowls, the clinks as they were handed into the cells. She willed herself to ignore it, but she could picture each movement: the way the food would settle against the sides of the dish, the scraping sound her spoon would make as she picked up another bite. The softness of the meat, of the potatoes. Tears poured down her cheeks and she whispered to herself she was an idiot for crying over prisoners' slop.

"Eh, gurl." Grub spoke around a mouthful of stew. "They've gorn, and they've put a bowl in t'cell for tha."

"What?" Natasha raised her head.

A steaming bowl sat at the far end of her cell, by the bars, in what she now considered her 'eating' room. Unable to stop herself, Natasha tumbled off the pallet and crawled forward, praying to Frigga it wouldn't be an illusion born of hunger, or a bowl of hot mud – a guard's cruel joke.

The dish was filled with beef, potatoes, and onions, just as she had imagined. Natasha had the presence of mind to take small bites, forcing herself to chew without pouring the stuff down her throat. The meat was tough and stringy, the potatoes undercooked, but it was still the most delicious meal she had ever tasted in her life.

It was only when her hunger was blunted that she noticed the smell. Natasha stopped eating to sniff the gravy, and a cold feeling of horror washed over her. Dittany and rue: the same thing she had noticed on Ivan's breath and in the dreadful bag from the healers.

Hands clapped over her mouth, Natasha retreated to her pallet and regarded the bowl in shock.

_Had she just been poisoned?_


	15. Hunger

Despite the ache in his belly, Loki fell into a deep slumber born of the long run through the woods as he was forced to follow Lorelei's horse and the caged cart holding Natasha. During the frightful trip they had traded a few glances, both knowing they were traveling to their ends. Each time he had glanced in the huntress's direction, however, one of Lorelei's soldiers prodded the girl with a spear. Her lips compressed, refusing to show pain, but Loki caught the bloom over her sleeve – a bloody rose proclaiming Natasha's bravery. After that he made himself look away so she would be tortured no longer.

He woke from those terrible memories to another plate of food slung onto the floor by the same guard from the night before. Loki rolled off the bed, pulled the cover off the food, and lifted the plate to his lips. He shoveled porridge into his mouth with the spoon, not bothering to pause for breath, until his hunger was blunted.

When the growling beast in his stomach was somewhat appeased, Loki realized the oats were burnt, speckled throughout with bits of ash and hard lumps. It was truly disgusting. He flung the spoon into the bowl and sat back, retching from the taste. A rueful smile spread over his face as he recalled making porridge for Natasha in the woods. At the time she had swallowed the stuff, and now he knew what such a gesture had cost her.

The bowl of oats was flanked by a small mug. He picked it up and drank, before spitting the stuff out – the pot was filled with sour milk. Frustration coursed through him, and hunger turned it into rage. By the gods, he would confront Lorelei and take the bitch down. He himself would her head with its triumphant smile off her body. No mere executioner would be allowed the pleasure. Reeling with bloodlust, Loki felt he could hear the heavy thump it would make in the basket when the treacherous queen met her end at last from the axe in his hand.

In order to achieve it he had to stay strong. No, Loki knew he had to become even stronger than he was at that moment. Natasha had eaten his swill – he could do the same for her. And so Prince Loki, born in privilege to King Odin and Queen Frigga, picked up the plate of burned porridge and ate every disgusting bite.

When he was finished, Loki eyed the chamber he was in. The place was small, but there was some extra room. If he cleaned the floor a bit and moved some furniture aside, he could practice his fighting skills. He could also start a list of plans for escape.

Those noble thoughts in mind, Loki prowled the room. His quick mind showed him the most efficient way for reorganizing the space, and he moved the bed to a corner. A small stool and the stained piece of carpet followed. Using the slip from his pillow, Loki cleaned the floor, flung the rag on the tray with his breakfast bowl, and sat back in satisfaction. He may have been imprisoned by the most vile, shrieking creature it had been his ill-fortune to encounter, but he was about to free his inner spirit.

When he was a boy with Thor, learning the art of war had been a boring, mind-numbing task. However, he recalled some of the figures their tutor had taught the two brothers, and he launched straight into some of the more active moves. Vaulting and running would rattle the floorboards, alerting Lorelei's guards of his activity.

He didn't want that, since surprise had to be a key part of his arsenal. Instead Loki concentrated on one-handed press-ups, squatting moves, lunging forward as though he held a dueling baton in his arm. The bed was heavy enough to be a counterweight, and he lifted one corner repetitively with each fist, feeling his muscles contract with the movement.

At last his breath as well as severe thirst choked him. Loki eyed the sour milk and, with desire born of necessity, drained the foul contents. The liquid burned in his vitals, and he flung himself on the bed to pant from exertion and overwhelming nausea.

Waves of sickness rattled his limbs. Had Lorelei put something in the milk, perhaps the healers' rue concoction? He couldn't get sick, simply couldn't.

After several agonized minutes, his system rebelled and he heaved the contents of his stomach into the chamberpot. Wiping his mouth, Loki felt tears prick his eyes – he was emptier than ever. He used the final sheet to wipe his face and body, reflecting he would kill to have a long bath. When was the last time he had been completely clean? Loki couldn't even remember.

There was nothing left for him but sleep. He collapsed on the bed, sank into the bare pillow, and fell into a dark void.

* * *

The clash of a huge gong woke him suddenly. Someone was striking it with enough force to make the clang reverberate through Loki's chamber and his aching skull. Seething, he jumped out of bed, ran to the locked door, and hammered on it with one fist. "Stop the noise at once!" he shouted. "Stop it!"

Outside the only response was a renewed banging and louder, faster rhythms on the gong. Loki rapped and shouted again, but the noise never stopped.

Giving it up, he slouched back to the bed and sat on the side. The chamber stank of his effluvia and sweat, and the din echoed through his head. Loki clutched his ears and slid sideways until he lay on the bed, and that way he was able to slide in and out of a gray, cold alternate consciousness. As soon as he was immersed in a dream, however, the noise resumed and yanked him back to the stinking room and his uncomfortable existence.

Something wet on his fingers made him start with surprise, and Loki sat up.  _Was it raining?_  his addled mind wondered. He shook his head and realized what the moisture was. Not rain, not wine, not a leak in the ceiling. No, the drops on the shaking fingers were his own tears.

* * *

Much later, dinner was served by the same, impassive guard. The meal was a bowl of cold broth. Loki ate until he realized chicken feet and the hen's head rested at the bottom of the dish.

About to void the contents of his stomach again, he closed his eyes and counted backwards from one hundred to settle his system. Suddenly he was frightened. Life had become nothing but a series of lurches from one necessity to the next, and the things that kept his heart beating were disappearing. It was as though he stood at the top of a long staircase that melted underneath him.

_And Natasha…_

What was she going through? Was it worse than this? Would she survive?

Loki shook his head and tried to stand up, to do some more exercises. The room spun around him, and he fell back on the bed.

* * *

The gong banged outside his door throughout the night.

* * *

The next morning the guard was accompanied by several other men. "Cleaning your room," one grunted. "Getting a visit later."

"Bath too," another said.

Loki was handed a tray filled with plates that overflowed with food. He ate eggs and bread and honey and fruit. As the guards slung in buckets of water, mopped up the mess of vomit and piss and opened a window for fresh air, he was too hungry to care. He shoveled crusts into his mouth as though he had never eaten before.

When he was finished a hipbath was brought in along with several cans of hot water. It was with a surge of relief Loki shed the disgusting rags he wore, plunged into the bath, and soaped his skin from a small trencher hanging on the side. While he washed, the guards changed the sheets on his bed and laid out a new pair of breeches and a shirt on the fresh linen.

His mind cleared somewhat, and Loki was able to croak, "Why?"

"T' Queen's visiting later. Can't come into the pigsty you were living in, yeh dirty vermin." The same guard who had served his food spoke calmly, but Loki sensed a thread of anger underneath, as though the man harbored a secret anger. What was the cause, the prince had no idea.

If he was honest with himself, he didn't care. It felt too good to be clean and dried off in a large, warm towel, to dress in clothes smelling of sunshine and lavender from hanging in the laundry gardens. To have a full belly, and fresh sheets to lie on when the guards left him alone, at last, was a forgotten luxury.

Then, with sanity somewhat restored, Loki plucked the book of poetry he had hidden when the guards entered the room. A cup of tea was still on the tray, and he dipped his finger in the dark brew. With that as a makeshift pen and ink, he was able to list a series of plans on the endpages, notes about his location, timing of the meals, plans to lull Lorelei into false confidence when she visited him that afternoon.

So the queen wanted romance? He would give it to her, by the gods, and win his freedom. As soon as he was out of that hellhole, he would slit the traitor's throat, find Natasha, and put Thor on the throne. And he would take the huntress to a bed, and he would… well, they would sleep in each other's arms first. He was too tired for anything else.

The book slid out of his grasp, and Loki fell onto the pillow. His eyes closed, and slumber slipped over him like the smooth waters of Milkwood stream, when he and Natasha had bathed in the stars. Yes, he would dream of that delight as he slept for the first time in…

Crashing and banging, the gong started again outside his room. Loki shot up, ran to the door, hammered and shouted until he fell to his knees.

* * *

When Lorelei entered the room with a basket over one slender arm, Loki rose and swayed. Exhaustion made the queen with her new red curls swim in front of him, and he nearly dropped into a faint.

"Oh, my poor darling." Lorelei turned to the door and called out, "Please stop so the prince may have some rest."

Instantly the gong was silent.

The shocking peace in the room buzzed with aftershocks from hearing the clamor all night and day. Loki felt he could never get the clanging out of his mind, and confusedly he shook his head.

"Come." Lorelei put one firm hand on his sleeve and drew him to the bed. "Lie down and sleep for a while. When you've rested we can talk."

That seemed reasonable. Loki closed his eyes, but hunger rumbled through his frame. "Can't," he muttered.

"Of course not! How silly of me. You need food. Look, I've brought some of those sandwiches you like." She produced a neat bundle filled with rolls that were filled with meat, chicken, tomato, and olives.

Loki bit into the bread she held, worrying that he had forgetten something very important, but it faded as his hunger lessened. When he had eaten several rolls and drunk a glass of wine she handed him, his eyelids closed.

"Just sleep," Lorelei crooned in his ear. "Put your head on my lap, love, and go to sleep."

Loki stretched his eyes open, trying to stay awake. There was something wrong, he knew it, but what it was he couldn't recall for the moment, since the room whirled so violently around him. "Natasha," he whispered.

"Who is that?" Her voice was filled with gentle inquiry. That question didn't seem right, either.

"She's…" Curious eyes and an intelligent face disappeared from his view, as though Natasha ran away from him and disappeared into a mist.

"Not important. Probably she's not important. Now sleep, my darling." The queen's whisper tickled his ear. Pillowed on the lap of his bitterest enemy, Loki crashed heavily and slept.


	16. Poisoned Apple

Breakfast came, but Natasha didn't move. If she got up from her pallet she would see the bowl of porridge and shovel it down her throat, not caring if it killed her. Her sense of smell, already honed from years of hiding in the woods, could pick out the notes of dittany and rue even from where she lay. Starvation would bring death much more slowly and painfully than if she ate the poisoned meals, but at least her death would come on her own terms.

When the guards came with a midday bowl of stew, one commented on her lack of appetite. "Not hungry?"

She had just enough energy to shake her head, envisioning his shrug as he picked up the bowl and left with an uncaring "Suit yourself." Heavy footsteps died off into the distance, and she let her head fall back onto the hard pallet.

"Girl." Grub rattled the bars between their cells. "Eat yer slop, fer feck's sake!"

"It's poison," she managed to whisper.

"Poison!" Grub hawked and spat on the floor in disgust. "It may be swill, but it's not poison."

"I believe her." Surprisingly the voice was Ugly's, coming from across the passage. "The Queen stole everything from me, all I ever had. If the girl says she's being poisoned, I wouldn't put it past that stone cold bitch on the throne of Asgard."

There was a prolonged silence after that pronouncement. Natasha felt something at her back, and Grub nudged her through the bars. "Here," he said in a gruff tone. "The bottle you were hiding from the mucky mucks. I filched when you were asleep and topped the glass with any water I had left."

Although it would only prolong the inevitable, Natasha thanked him. She managed to reach the bottle, hold it to her lips, and drink the lukewarm liquid inside.

After that she drifted in and out of dreams. In one she was locked in the cellar of her youth again, taunted by the boys as they produced ropes to tie her down. In another nightmare she wielded the dagger over Loki's heart, and when time came to cut it from his chest she didn't hold back but slammed the knife into his chest. The organ never stopped beating, however, not even when she put it in the box. Although the lid was closed over the bloody lump of flesh, she could still hear the steady thumping right through the wood.

Dimly she struggled to stay awake, but as she opened her eyes she heard a growl from a shadow on the far wall. It moved closer, rumbling in its throat, and she thought Death was approaching, dressed in fur and carrying the final throes in its jaws. Forgetting her weakness, Natasha sat up on the pallet. Her eyes cleared as with a shock of disbelief she realized the moving shadow was Burglar - somehow the cat had found her even after being left behind in the forest. Moreover the little animal had a piece of bread in its jaws, the heel end of a loaf. The cat grumbled and grunted to itself while it dragged the morsel through the straw, and with a meow of victory Burglar succeeded in getting the food to Natasha's bed. She didn't hesitate before snatching the crust and pushing the stale, hard bread into her mouth.

"Mm," she couldn't help saying. "Oh, dear gods, that is so good. How did you ever find me, little thief?" She caressed Burglar right between the ears, and the cat collapsed on its side. Instantly a loud purr rumbled through the dungeon cells.

Grub's face was thrust through the bars as he watched the entire scene with eyes that bugged nearly out of the sockets. "What happened?"

"You're not going to believe this, but somehow my cat found me and brought me this food. She must have stolen it from the jailers." Burglar mewed and twisted, revealing the silky fur of her underbelly. "Look at her. She's such a shameless flirt!"

"I used to have a cat," Ugly supplied. She held the bars with both fists. "An admirer brought him to me from a far realm. The kitten slept on a silk pillow next to my bed."

"Of course it did," Grub laughed. "Did it drink from fountains of champagne in your privy as well?"

"That's enough," Natasha snapped. She took a sip of water from the bottle and sat back as the world stopped spinning around her. "If we are all enemies of the queen, then we might as well be allies together."

"You can have my bread tonight," Ugly said suddenly. " _If_  you can talk Puss into delivering it, that is."

"Oh!" Natasha was surprised. "Well, we'll see what she can do. Her name is Burglar, and now I see what an appropriate title it is."

"Burglar," Grub laughed. "Tell you what, you can have my bread in the morning. Tisn't much, but t'will keep you alive until you can escape."

"But if you do escape," Ugly added, "you must promise to come back for us."

"I doubt any of us will ever leave this dungeon except in a box. Still, I do vow to return and rescue you both if I ever have the chance," Natasha said.

* * *

It occurred to her that the untouched bowls of food delivered by the guards to Natasha's cell would draw attention to her and perhaps force the queen's next move, which could be deadly not only for her but Grub and Ugly as well. Natasha found a loose stone in one corner, and when stew arrived that night she poured the lot into the hole behind it.

Ugly kept her word, and as the guards' footsteps died away she held up the bread for Burglar to take. "Pss pss pss," she called. "Here, you can have a bit of my stew as a reward if you come to me."

The cat hesitated, and Grub jeered at Ugly and the entire venture. However, under Natasha's urging, Burglar bolted across the passage, accepted a few shreds of meat from Ugly, and dragged the crust back to Natasha's cell where she petted and praised the cat before chewing the morsel.

Once they had all eaten Grub demanded Natasha's story. She told the bulk of it, leaving out the parts about Prince Loki. Instead she said she had refused to kill someone for the queen and as a result lost everything.

"That sounds about right," Ugly said. "I did a little job for her too, and – well – this is the result. How about you, Grub?"

"Kicked one of her guards in the bollocks when he tried to collect me tariff. Told him to naff off and go feck himself." Grub laughed at the remembrance, and even Ugly's face creased with a smile.

It was erased, however, when a flurry of steps came down the stairs. A slender young man dressed in the silks and satins of the court approached Ugly's cell, and she screamed. "Ågir! No! For pity's sake…"

Natasha felt a stab of pity as she watched Ugly cover her face and scramble to the other side of the cell, hiding in one corner.

"Please talk to me," the man said. "You'll always be a beauty in my eyes, my love."

"Go away!" Ugly howled. The girl's red hands shivered against her shorn scalp as though she could hide behind those thin, trembling fingers.

"I had to see you. There's no other for me, my own heart's darling, and I simply had to come and find you to - to just say it you. I couldn't go on if you didn't know."

"My beauty is gone," Ugly sobbed. "It was all I had. I wasn't rich or particularly clever. She ... go on! Get out of here and don't look at me any longer!"

The courtier pleaded a bit longer, but Ugly refused to face him. At length one of the guards returned, touched the man's arm, and told Ågir it was time to leave.

"Who was that?" Grub demanded when their footsteps died away again.

"I spurned his advances when I was at court," Ugly said through thick sobs. "There were many men who wanted my hand, and I always thought Ågir was too young. Not rich enough. But now…" She let her voice trail off.

Natasha shook her head, and the feeling she was missing something swept over her once more. The visitor's name seemed as familiar as Ugly's voice. Still, after only a few pieces of bread to eat all day her mind was stupefied with hunger, and the answer wouldn't come.

* * *

The next few days dragged by, interspersed with bouts of chat between the three inmates. Grub confessed he was an out-of-work miner, laid off when the queen closed the silver fields to the west. Ugly mainly talked about the dresses she used to own as well as the jewels from a long line of admirers. Natasha described her hunting cottage and how she earned her pay chasing wild marauders to keep the village free from wolves or more exotic prey.

Burglar settled down in the cell to create his own circular bed in the straw or curl up in Natasha's belly. She grumbled but didn't really mind since it gave her something to warm her up at night. She really could have done with Loki's slender body next to hers in the bed.

Bread three times a day staved off actual hunger pains. The water Grub gave her kept her alive. Natasha was even able to use each plotted quarter of her cell again, including the Sanity section where she found time each day to sit and clear her head of the darkness and fear surrounding them in the dungeons. Her memory took her to the stream of stars, although such thoughts usually led to thoughts of Loki and the kisses they had shared by the reflecting waters.

She had just sunk into one such daydream when the tramp of guards' boots echoed down the passage. Natasha raised her head, and Grub flew to the bars to see what was happening.

One large man, the one who had prodded her in the cage with his spear during the journey back to the castle, stood in front of Natasha's door. Behind him in the shadows was the cloaked figure of a lovely woman. The Queen herself had come to the dungeons.

The guard held up the large ring of keys and opened the lock. "What's happening?" Natasha demanded.

"You're coming with me." The queen's voice made Ugly squeal and flee back to her shadows, and even the impassive Grub retreated to his pallet. "Come on, huntress."

Natasha was dragged out of the cell. Burglar had hidden in the corner at the first sound of the guard's boots, and she prayed no one would find the cat to slit its belly. The guard bound a rag around her eyes, and she had to concentrate on moving forward so she wouldn't pitch forward and split her head open on the stones.

When the rag was removed, Natasha screamed with pain and covered her eyes. Actual daylight came through the casement windows – something she hadn't seen in days, maybe weeks. The light slammed into her pupils, sharper than any blade.

Lorelei stood by a steaming bathtub holding a riding crop, which she tapped against one leg. "Strip her," the queen ordered. "Get her into the tub." Natasha was forced to submit as the man pulled her old clothes off, leaving her naked. She was marched forward to the steaming water, and Lorelei lazily flicked her calf with the crop. "In you go, or I'll cut off one finger for each second you delay."

Natasha's hands were her livelihood. In any case, she had learned early on it was best to obey one's enemies while looking for the moment to escape. She climbed into the tub, and Lorelei pointed to a bowl of soft soap. "Clean yourself thoroughly," the queen ordered.

There was nothing else to be done. Besides, at that point the hot water felt ambrosial after living in her sweat-hardened clothes. Natasha poured soap over her shoulders and hair, lathered herself briskly, and rinsed. "You're a skinny little pullet," Lorelei ran her glance over Natasha's breasts. "I can't understand what he sees in you." It was obvious whom the queen meant by 'he'.

Biting back the rejoinder that if she had been fed she wouldn't be so thin, Natasha soaped herself again, ducked under for a complete rinse – and froze. The steam coming off the water smelled like poison - like the oatmeal, the soup, Ivan's breath after the healers, and the horrible bag in the forest. Deliberately Natasha turned to the queen. "Are you poisoning me?"

For once the queen seemed taken aback. "How did you…" Lorelei stopped. "No matter. Get out and dry yourself."

Natasha emerged from the water, stepped into a towel the guard tossed to her, and Lorelei nodded. "Good. Tonight you'll wear something finer than anything you've ever imagined." She indicated a deep red gown thrown over a chair, gleaming under the light of hundreds of candles. Natasha approached, threw the garment over her head, and froze.

The scent of dittany and rue lurked in its folds.

There was nothing to do but put it on if Lorelei stood ready to chop off fingers and toes at the least sign of disobedience. Natasha thrust her arms through the sleeves and adjusted the gown as best she could. The neckline dipped low enough to display Natasha's breasts nearly to the nipples. One hidden slit in the skirt opened when she moved, revealing her legs. "A fine, shiny apple she makes, My Queen," the guard growled.

"Indeed." Lorelei giggled, a hideously girlish sound. Looking at her, Natasha was horrified afresh by the juxtaposition of beauty and evil in the woman - the legless serpent. "And a poisoned apple at that! Towel your hair, huntress, before you drip all over your lovely new dress."

"Is this gown really poisoned? Who  _does_  that?" Natasha couldn't help marveling at the insanity of it.

"Mmmm. Time to shut your mouth." Lorelei produced a wooden ball, also painted red, suspended on a thick chain. Hugleikr took the gag, forced it into Natasha's mouth, and locked it shut behind her head.

"And now bring him in." Lorelei slapped her crop once again on her thigh.

Hugleikr nodded and went to the door. Natasha's eyes widened as Loki was dragged inside the room, her heart nearly breaking at his muddled expression. The prince's cheekbones, always prominent, were even sharper than usual. Obviously Lorelei was using hunger as a punishment for him as well.

Loki tottered and nearly fell. "Hold him up," the queen commanded. "Make certain he sees her." At once Hugleikr gripped the prince's hair and yanked it back so his head was held upright.

"Look, darling," Lorelei crooned. She slithered forward and caressed Loki's chin and cheek with her riding crop. "It's your little friend, the one who trapped you so thoroughly. Would you like to come and touch her? Perhaps run your hands over that soft skin? Look, the little slut wears nothing under her dress. You could so easily breach her, my darling. All you have to do is unlace yourself and find the slit in the skirt – see? There it is." The queen's crop parted the dress so Natasha's legs were exposed.

Loki's eyes focused on Natasha for the first time. Some unknown expression was in them, a note of harrowing desire. He moved as though he were about to reach for her, but Lorelei stopped him with the crop. "One last warning before you indulge yourself. She is poison, my prince. One kiss, one caress, and you will expire instantly. She's been eating the stuff. She bathed in it. Even her gown is soaked with the mixture."

Natasha tried to shake her head in a signal that it was untrue and she hadn't eaten the poisoned swill, but the gag bit back any sound. There was nothing she could do but struggle against Hugleikr's grip and try to speak to Loki with her eyes.  _I am fine,_  she wanted to say.  _Save yourself. Take care – oh take care! Lorelei is filled with madness!_

"And," Lorelei continued, "if you do touch her even with the merest brush of your finger, the gong will ring all night by your chamber for the next week. Your meals will be soiled in any way Hugleikr sees fit, and I will not visit for a month. Do you want that?"

Loki shook his head. He said nothing, and Natasha wondered what had happened to him inside that lovely castle.

"Good," the queen said. "Take her back to the dungeons, and I will reward the prince myself." Her arm slid around Loki's waist, and he sagged against her. Red and black heads bent together, the two left the room where Natasha still stood in the poisoned dress.

"Back we go," Hugleikr growled. He yanked on the gag's chain, and Natasha was compelled to follow him to the dungeons where, she was now certain, she would rot in utter darkness and filth.

They walked the length of the corridor and turned to enter the depths of the palace. It was at that point that Natasha's spirit said Enough. She was finished with the palace, the dungeons, and above all the insanity of the queen.

Hugleikr's hand still pulled the gag at her mouth. She caught his thick forearm, flipped back and kicked up so her legs scissored into the air. One heel got the man in his throat, the other in his nose.

With a meaty crunch red spurted from both nostrils, and he let go of the gag's chain. Natasha landed on her hands, bent backwards like a tearoom's table, and she pushed up again to butt under his chin with her head so hard she nearly bit her through the wooden ball in her mouth. The huge guard flew back, and she raised one knee to connect squarely with his crotch. Hugleikr screamed as he bent over to clutch his privates in agony, and Natasha pounded both fists on the back of his neck.

At that, he dropped like a stone.

Heart beating, she fumbled for his keys. It would have been a matter of moments to flip out of the window and take off for the forest, but she had made her promise to Ugly and Grub.

Quickly she pulled the huge guard's body into a nearby room and closed the door, hoping no one would go into it for several hours. With the chain of keys dripping from one fist, Natasha managed to undo the gag and spit it out. She yanked up her silly skirts to pound down the steps, heart beating in her throat. If she was very lucky she could rescue the prisoners – with Burglar of course – and make it out of the castle alive.

If only she could forget Loki's blank expression as easily. Still, as she descended, the threads of a plan shimmered in front of her and began to weave together: a plot to rescue the prince she had once meant to slaughter.


	17. Red as Blood, Golden as a Ring

The memory of the girl in the red silk followed Loki back to his attic room as though she walked behind him and the queen with footsteps of blood. What was her name? He shook his head in order to remember, but his mind wouldn't work properly. Lorelei's voice buzzed in his ear, soft and musical but just as insistent as the eternal gong.

"You did very well in there, darling. Very well indeed. When you agreed to come with me my heart soared. It was a wonderful moment, and I shall never forget it. In fact you deserve a reward, and I promise I shall be by your side all night…"

They reached the scarred, wooden door that led to his room, just as much of a prison as any dungeon room even though it lay just under the eaves of the old castle. He gasped and nearly shouted with fright, but the door was not what terrified him. No, it was a huge, brass circle, hanging silently in the center of the hall.

_The gong._

"You won't hear it tonight, my darling," Lorelei promised. She gestured to the guard who had followed them up the stairs, and with a growl he opened the door.

Loki was pushed inside. A maid was scrubbing one corner, but the queen trilled her fingers at the girl. "Enough. Leave us, and take your mop and bucket with you."

The girl nodded, pushed her wrist across her face as though to clean the smears of dirt and merely smudging the skin further, and picked up the articles. The scarf tied over her dark hair slipped, and for a moment Loki thought he knew her. He opened his mouth to ask her name, but the maid raised one eyebrow in a glance so filled with portent and warning he frowned and said nothing.

Lorelei didn't seem to notice. She was too busy waving at the bed, which had been remade with soft sheets and a heavy silk counterpane. The table beside the bed held steaming plates and a bucket of ice. "New bedclothes since you behaved so well, and a tray of all your favorite food. Champagne as well – what do you say?" With a laugh she popped the cork, and the bubbles cascaded over the bottle into two crystal glasses. "Here you are. Let us drink to a new age, to the renaissance of our passion."

The wine tasted like dust as he watched the dark-haired maid slip from the room and close the door, leaving him behind with Lorelei. To forget the fact he was locked inside once more, Loki drained the glass and held it out for more. The queen laughed, a delightful sprig of innocent mirth, and refilled it. She handed him a pastry filled with sausage and cheese. "Here you are, my darling. The cooks spiced them with thyme – aren't they delicious? And try these, flat bread filled with creamed mushroom and chicken…"

Lulled by the food, wine, and Lorelei's voice, Loki forgot the maid. He drank another glass, he ate more delicious tidbits. With the queen's words tickling his stupor, he collapsed on the bed and fell asleep with his head pillowed on her lap.

He was starting to get used to it.

* * *

"You're still here…" The girl in the red dress held him from behind as the water tore at them. Overhead the stars winked, but as Loki tilted his head to look at the fantastic swirls and shapes, heavy clouds blew over the night sky and covered the constellations. "Stay with me," she whispered. "Do you remember? It's me, Natasha. Can you remember this?"

Loki sighed as she put one hand on his back, circled him to step between his legs. "I know things are getting really difficult, but can you just hold on a little bit longer?" With a sudden motion she stood on her tiptoes, pushed her fingers into his hair, and tugged him down for a long kiss. And oh how lovely it tasted, so soft and firm at once, with the sharp edge of desire behind it.

Underneath their feet the earth shuddered. Natasha staggered, pulling her mouth away from his, and he leaned forward to feel the brush of her tongue once more, search for her upright breasts to touch them with eager fingers. A stiff wind surged, blowing the tiny silver stream into waves worthy of the Sea of Marmora. The water pushed against Loki, and he nearly overbalanced. "Hang on!" she shouted. "Hang on!"

But his grasp loosened, and with the crash of thunder he felt her get pulled by the impatient waters. He shouted and struggled, but she was washed from his arms into the waves and wind.

* * *

Late morning sun struggled in through the window when Loki awoke, alone once again. He stretched, feeling a sense of well-being flow through him. When was the last time he had slept so long? He couldn't recall. Still, danger lurked in each corner. Even though the room was silent, the ghost of the beating gong rang in his ear to torture him with the constant echo he dreaded.

Pushing the sheets back, Loki rose and went to the window. Although the jamb was nailed shut, he could see out to the world below. The room was so high up in the immense palace there was no way of escape even if he could break the barred window. Still it was a glimpse into the freedom of his past. There were the rose gardens where Frigga used to walk with her sons, flanked by the stately walkways King Odin preferred in his day. He put his hand up to feel the glass as though he could sense that past life, and the ring on his little finger clinked against the casement.

Ring? He wore no ring. Jewelry had always seemed excessively trivial to him, a waste of money and time. Where had it…?

A small sound made him whirl round and forget the jewel. With a snick the lock slid back and the door opened. The dark-haired maid stood there with a bucket in one hand and a mop in the other. Quickly she slipped into the room, putting down her burden, and approached him. "Prince Loki, my name is Lady Sif," she said in a low voice. "I just wanted to let you know your brother knows you are here, and we are working as quickly as possible to save you."

Loki nodded, but something was wrong. The gong's memory taunted him, and he winced as he covered his ears.

"What is it?" Sif came closer and put one hand on his arm. "Your Highness, are you well? Our hopes are to rescue you this very week and take you to the forest…"

_The mirror._

A feeling of helpless horror suffused Loki's body as he remembered. Wrenching his arm from Sif's touch, he turned back to the window. "She can see us," he muttered under his breath as though he talked to himself. "The queen watches every move I make in her dark mirror. Even now she sees you here speaking with me. For the sake of the gods, Sif, take to your heels and escape to Thor this instant. Get him out of Asgard and into Varenheim where you can grow old together and forget I ever existed."

A stiff intake of breath told him she had been unaware of the danger. "But how can she…?"

"Queen Lorelei commands the old magic inside her glass, her Optica Eterna. You must go now!"

"Then you will come with me." Firmly Sif grasped his wrist once more and tugged him towards the door. "There were no guards in the hall when I came up, and I have several weapons hidden outside."

Outside. The thought was too tempting. No more gong, no more Lorelei, and he could prepare to save the girl in red - at the moment Loki couldn't recall her name.

He allowed himself to be towed out into the hall behind the dark-haired 'chambermaid' who moved quickly and efficiently to a side room. "There's a back staircase through here," she murmured. "We will go down to the grounds and get through the guards at the corner point. Once we're in the forest I can contact your brother."

"Is he safe?" Loki panted, trying to keep up as she tore open a door to a back staircase and hurtled down the steps. His meager attempts at exercise inside his prison had done little to keep him in shape. Sif's robe flipped up, revealing the smooth muscles of her legs. Presumably Thor's fiancée was enamored of riding, since Loki's brother would demand a woman who could keep up with him on the hunt. In fact there was something about her that reminded him of someone else with her direct manner and slim body, a girl who had been very dear to him.

Sif turned back once to urge more speed, her face white against the dark cloud of her hair, and Loki ignored the ache in his lungs. Freedom suddenly shimmered within his grasp like a rainbow or moonbeam. If only it wouldn't disappear like those things! His heart heaved in his chest. Still it beats, Loki thought grimly, despite all the attempts to slice it out of his flesh.

That thought made him stop for a moment and gasp. The girl in red: she was Natasha. Lorelei was the one who had tried to kill him. He was imprisoned thanks to the queen and, furthermore, she had gotten him to touch her, to sleep on her lap, to treat him as though he were a pet. By the gods, he would tear out the queen's throat himself with his teeth if he had to.

"Come!" Sif demanded. "Loki, we must hurry."

They were near the bottom. An iron door with a huge padlock lay at the bottom. He groaned at the sight of the locks, but Sif produced a large dagger from her sleeve and, raising it over her head, jammed the butt into the chain. With a screech the metal parted and the door opened.

_I am free. I am free._  Loki joined Sif at the bottom of the steps, took her outstretched hand, and prepared to run to the wall where they could escape to the forest and meet Thor.

Sif pulled him into the cover of a nearby tree – and they both froze.

There, among the leaves and limbs, stood a huge guard. His cragged face split in a wide grin. "Hello, princeling," the man said.

* * *

"Why?" Lorelei shouted. "Why did you do it?"

Loki turned away from her, unable to bear the sight of his father's wife any longer. It had taken five of Lorelei's solders to drag him back to the prison room and three other to bear Sif away, probably to the dungeons. Perhaps she would see his Natasha there, and the two of them could come up with a plan. Yes, the pair would be cunning and ruthless, he knew it, and if they met they would triumph in escape.

While they ran he was left behind. To Lorelei. And the guards. And the gong.

"Yes," the queen whispered. "You know what comes next. Nor will I return to this room to give you succor until you are fully broken, as useless as this…" She snatched something from his bedside and smashed it on the floor. Her reddened curls bounced on her shoulders as Lorelei wheeled around with her velvet skirts twirling around her slim figure and strode out of the room.

Loki kneeled and picked up the shards of the glass. It had been the crystal they had drunk champagne from together, and the force of the throw had dashed it to pieces no bigger than his thumbnail.

"Can't even slit your own wrist with that mess," the soldier commented. "No worries. What I've got in mind will do the job just as thoroughly – just a bit more slowly." He wound his hand in Loki's collar and pulled him off the floor to hiss, "Did you engineer the attack on Hugleikr? Eh? And the escape from the dungeons – was that you as well? No wonder the queen's in a lather. He was my kin, you mangy son of a cur, and I'll be certain you taste his revenge." The man laughed, a harsh sound in the room, and he left to slam the door in Loki's face, even as the prince tried to protest he knew nothing of an attack nor an escape. How could he? Loki was helpless, trussed in the room of horrors like a chicken facing the butcher's knife.

Silence. Stillness. Loki covered his face and tried not to whimper with fright. As soon as exhaustion overcame him, he knew what would be next.

* * *

The gong rang all night long, and the next day as well.

The guard brought a thick beefsteak with a shovelful of manure neatly deposited on top for dinner.

Breakfast was eggs long past their prime, so foul and stinking the chamber smelled for hours.

Slugs and slowworms nestled in the bottom of his water goblet.

Lunch was bread infested with maggots.

The next day was just as bad, and the next, and the next. Throughout the ordeal, the gong clashed and clanged in Loki's very bones, it seemed.

All this seemed to pass in flashes of bright horror. The guard's face, splotched red with anger as he shouted at Loki. Sputum on the carpet. Even the noise of the gong seemed to take on an appearance, and in a daze Loki fancied he saw the banging sounds as black insects with sharp stingers. They buzzed and plunged their tiny swords straight into his eardrums and laughed as he rolled and screamed with pain. Reality flashed in and out in front of his eyes when he dropped into sleep and was jerked back under the clash of the gong.

He had always thought of himself as quiet, a private person. Life had been spent in Frigga's library when he was able to get away from state dinners and sparring practice. The hours there were soft, eminently civilized, with a fire crackling in the background and the hush that lingers between those who enjoyed reading as a passion. Sometimes rain or snow fell outside, a welcome sight to Loki and Odin's queen. It meant they had no reason to leave the snug room, and they were able to curl up in front of the red flames and enjoy their books without a nagging sense of guilt that Thor or the king wanted them outside.

Would he ever be able to recapture a semblance of that lost, lush time? Loki stretched out his hand as though he could see it, a golden bubble bobbing just out of reach of his long fingers. "Frigga? Are you there?" His addled mind conjured his mother and her sad, gentle smile.

Instead he touched the stiff sacking of uniformed trousers. Loki looked up and saw Hugleikr, returned with a black eye and a bruised chin to torture him.

"Did you tell the huntress to attack me like one of your hounds? I was punished for what she did to me, and now I'll punish you as well." The guard spat into Loki's soup, dropped it onto the floor with a curse, and left.

Sobbing, Loki fell on the floor and lifted the bowl. It held only a few drops of what smelled like herbed broth.

Loki fell on his face and licked what little food remained from the floor. It was at that moment, as he blubbered in the puddle of spilled soup, Loki knew the elegant prince from Frigga's library had disappeared and he was truly lost.

The prince struggled upright and held his hands to the ceiling. "Please, Lorelei," he begged. "I'll do anything. Anything you ask. Just make it stop. Please." And although his voice was cracked from disuse, he did not stop pleading until he fainted.


	18. Ugly and Grub

Grub's former life was working underground to dig up bright metals for the nobs. Long hours underground as well as the heat and lack of food made him short-tempered, even more so than usual. After the argument with the tax-collector he had been chucked into the dungeon, and the little man thought he would rot the rest of his days there.

When Natasha reappeared in the dark passage dressed in the red gown and carrying the keys to their cells he thought she was a dream, an illusion, or the ghost of young Queen Frigga come to torture him for his sins. Instead she had freed him and Ugly, picked up the Burglar-cat she seemed to like so much, and urged them to make haste in escaping.

A blurred, vigorous period of time followed, filled with flashes of action: Natasha threatening a guard and stealing the fellow's sword. The snick of the key as she locked the fellow into her old dungeon cell. The whisper of ancient paving-stones underfoot as they stole through the castle. Grass and leaves tearing at his face as the three of them ran into the forest. Grub, Ugly, and Natasha were free at last, or at least until the guard she had brought down was discovered in the dungeon cursing and calling for their heads.

Natasha shook off Grub's worries and moved like a fox between the trees with Burglar in her arms, laying a beeline south-west. Grub had never been much of a hunter-gatherer sort, but he got the idea they were heading towards Østenblad. The few cottages they passed were slender with high, peaked roofs gabled in the southern tradition meant to slough off the rains in the wet season. Grub knew inside the tiny rooms tow-headed children struggled to keep their eyes open as women with braided hair told them the old stories of dragons and princesses. There would be the smell of that day's pottage amidst the smoking fire, and a string of fish would hang outside to dry in the trees, sheltered from the bears and other marauders.

Behind him Ugly struggled to keep up, her breath whistling in her chest. The little hair she had left was matted to her scalp. When the woman stopped once to demand a rest and was denied by Natasha, Ugly shrieked she had no patience for such a dirty, disgusting journey. Grub nearly puked out the little food he had left in his vitals to see Ugly's face, twisted with self-pity and reddened in anger. Was there anyone more foul than that mutilated harpy?

Natasha, however…Ah, that was a different story. Once within the woods she seemed to become part of them, a dryad or nymph who absorbed the triumphant light of sunset filtering through the branches. When darkness fell she found them a dry hole surrounded by roots and allowed Ugly to rest at last. The woman fell into the pit and fell asleep instantly, her small chest rising and falling in exhausted sleep.

"Worthless," Grub grunted. He was unable to stop himself. Ugly had been a thorn in his backside all day, and the bitch's sleep gave him a chance to stop her constant whine in his lughole.

"She's not used to this," Natasha replied calmly. "Get some sleep. I'll find something for our breakfast so we can move on in a few hours."

Grub watched her slink off, a shapely shadow in the larger void of the forest. He would have liked to hold a candle or a lantern so he could see the sway of Natasha's buttocks under the red of the queen's dress.

* * *

Ugly's whine started the moment they woke her, but Natasha soothed the woman. "Eat," she said. "Look, it's only a few berries and nuts, but I promise you meat by this evening."

"I want bread and porridge. Honestly I think the dungeon provided better. Look at the state of my feet! Once dukes and earls kissed my toes, promised to put bells around my ankles if I danced for them. And I can't walk another step. I simply cannot."

"Yes, you can. This is better than the rats and mice stealing our bread, eh? Speaking of which, Burglar my champion, you must find your own dinner." Natasha rubbed the cat under her chin, and a loud purr filled the little hollow.

* * *

Somehow they got Ugly back on her feet and continued the journey south. The sun's rays filtered through the leaves after a few hours, and Natasha demanded they go faster. By that point Grub was ready to complain just as vociferously as Ugly, so tired and hungry he could hardly move.

The huntress never lost her temper. It was with the sheer force of her will she got them through the forest to the shores of a lake near Østenblad, surrounded by massive stones where pockets of darkness lurked. Natasha nodded and picked her way towards one of those caves.

As usual, Ugly started to complain. "I can't go inside one of those horrid things. There might be bats in there! What if they got tangled in my hair?"

"You haven't got any hair left," Grub snapped, goaded to the end of his patience. The only result was Ugly's sniffle, and a rush of satisfaction puffed out his chest as he made her cry. The journey had taxed his strength. He wanted to strike and hurt something even smaller than he was.

"That's enough." Natasha led the way to one of the caverns barely visible under a jut of sharp Rapakivi granite. "I promise there aren't any bats in the caves, only a few otters in the wet ones. Look, this cavern is dry underfoot. You can see on the sand there are no tracks or pawprints other than our footsteps. Nothing will disturb us here, and I can go to catch us something for dinner. Watch my Burglar until I return."

Without another word she turned and slipped away, leaving the cat and the two fellow prisoners.

An awkward silence descended. Grub stuck his hands in his pockets and whistled, examining the place they were in. It was cozy enough with a hole overhead so they could have a fire and not be smoked out. Perhaps Natasha would catch them a rabbit. The thought of broasted hare made his stomach rumble and mouth water. Burglar must have felt the same, and the cat mewed inside the echoing cave.

"I do think you are a beast," Ugly said suddenly. "It's not my fault my hair was shorn off. I did exactly what the queen wanted me to, but she punished me anyway – stole my beauty and hid me away so no one could hear my story."

"Tell  _me_  your story, then," Grub said. "There's naught else to do." He squatted on a small rock and flicked at the sand with one careless finger. What wouldn't he give for a pipe and pouch at that moment!

"I would if you were worth it." Ugly turned away and looked out towards the lake. The late afternoon light touched her shoulders, and with a shock Grub realized Ugly was actually quite pretty, after all.

* * *

Dinner was duck instead of rabbit. Natasha sent Grub out to collect wood while she plucked the meat and gutted it. "There is a warren of coneys close by," the huntress remarked when he returned with a few branches. "I'll hunt all day tomorrow, and if we're lucky I'll have some skins to sell at market."

"Roast duck isn't so bad, eh?" Grub nudged Ugly, who jerked her ankle away from his touch.

"We will only eat the wings and legs, I'm afraid." Natasha compressed her lips firmly. "I'll dry the breast meat and sell it as well." She held up the carcass and, before Grub or Ugly could stop her, started to slap mud from the lake onto the duck.

"Eh, you'll ruin the fresh meat! Are you daft?" Grub shouted.

"We don't have a spit." Natasha continued to cover the plucked fowl. "I'll bake it when I've covered it completely until the mud dries and, when we break it open, the duck will be ready to eat. Watch it for me while I go to hunt nuts and mushrooms – we can sell them as well."

Grub waited until she put the duck – now a clumsy ball of glop – into the fire and left before he edged closer to Ugly. "I'm a miner," he muttered. "Grew up underground with a fist in my belly and a boot up my arse, like as not. Never heard gentle words so I don't know any. You mustn't mind what I say, lass."

Ugly's eyes grew round, and she turned to him in the cave. The fire lit up her features, spare and slanted with deprivation from her time in the dungeons. "I grew up never being able to do a thing for myself," she said in a low tone. "If I strayed off the path Nurse would slap my cheek until my mother slapped hers. 'Don't spoil her looks,' she would order. 'Birch her bottom instead.' I had to bathe in milk, brush my hair for an hour each night. Polish it with silk too. If my back wasn't straight enough I'd get the cane. Hence my complaints, I suppose, since this is all so different from what I knew as a child…"

She indicated the snug cave, warm and glowing from the heat of the fire. They laughed together as Burglar, with eyes slitted in content from the flames, looped little paws under her chest and went to sleep.

"Reckon we've both come a long way from where we began." Grub itched his chin, dying for a shave.

"The queen wanted to enslave the prince," Ugly confessed in a low tone. "Lorelei demanded my help in doing it before I was put in the dungeons."

"Enslave? A prince? What does that mean?" Grub sat up.

"When the new queen first arrived at court we all fell over ourselves to be kind to her. I brought her presents and took her to parties – became her friend. Of course, such a woman has no idea what friendship really is."

"Get to the point, lass," Grub grunted. He got the idea – perhaps Ugly had spoken the truth. Maybe she really had grown up in the palace.

"She wanted the prince in her bed." Ugly stopped and put her hands over her face.

"Prince? Prince Thor?"

"No, not him. The other one."

"There is not other – oh, the reading fellow. The one no one ever sees as he's always scrubbing away at some book with his snuffler. That one?"

"Yes, Prince Loki. Queen Lorelei wanted him."

"Lass." Grub felt for her ankle again, and this time Ugly didn't shake him off. "What did you do?"

"My Lord Fandral held a cotillion for Prince Thor to welcome him back to court. We managed to drag Loki there, fill his glass, get him thoroughly drunk. And that night… that night…" Ugly made a sudden movement and pushed her hair back – what little fringe of it was left. "She and I got him into her bed, and …"

Tears were rolling down her cheeks. Grub moved closer and drew her to his side, put a comforting arm around her waist. "Seems to me you had no choice," he said gruffly. "You did what you had to in order to save your neck, and who can blame you for that?"

* * *

The next few days were filled with mindless survival. Grub and Ugly spent the days looking for more nuts and berries as well as picking reeds from the lakeside they wove into tiny baskets. Natasha disappeared with a bag of skins and dried meats for market, and when she returned the red silk gown was replaced by breeches and a man's shirt. "Thank the gods!" the huntress chuckled. "I was mightily tired of skirts that get entangled in brambles at the slightest movement. Next time I'll get you two fresh clothes as well. Not to complain, but you both stink."

Ugly opened her mouth and, after a few moments of reflection, shut it again. "Thank you, Natasha." Her cheeks turned pink, and the fire reflected off a buzz of curls on her scalp where the hair was starting to grow back at last, tiny dark ringlets against the dusky skin.

Grub bellowed with laughter. "You've tamed the wench!"

Natasha smiled but looked into the flames as though she saw something far away. "What is it?" Ugly asked.

"I've got to return to the castle as soon as I can. Tomorrow I'll see if I can trade for a knife and some copper coins. I'll need to work like the wind if I'm to succeed."

Grub darted a look at Ugly. She dipped her chin quickly in acquiescence. "Not just you," he stated. "We'll come with you if you need us when you go on your quest."

The huntress drew up her legs and bowed over her knees, clasping her hands behind her neck in silence. "I've  _got_  to rescue him," she whispered, "if he's still alive at all."

He meant to inch forward and ask what Natasha meant by that, but Ugly caught his eye and shook her head, just a tiny bit. With the new understanding between them, Grub retreated and let the silence thicken.

* * *

The weather grew colder. Natasha hunted as long as she could each day, and sometimes her hands shook with weariness as she lifted the day's meat to her lips. Once she fell asleep in the middle of a bite, and Grub helped her to the dip in the sand where the three of them slept pressed together for warmth. Ugly covered the huntress with the one blanket they had cobbled together from the scraps of rabbit and sacking Natasha brought home from the market.

"We would have died without her," Ugly declared. "My head would have been next for the block once the queen recalled what I knew about her."

"And what is that, beyond getting an overgrown boy-prince to drop his britches for her?" Grub guffawed at his own wit.

"Ah, but there's a secret." Ugly whispered it into his ear, and Grub's laughter died instantly.

"What was that?" Natasha sat up suddenly.

"Sorry! I thought you were so deep in slumber I wouldn't wake you." Ugly knelt beside Natasha's form and stroked the red curls.

"No – what did you just tell him?" The huntress grasped Ugly's wrist, pulled her closer, and her eyes widened. "By the gods," Natasha said with a low whistle. "I do know you, and you know me. We met at court during the coronation of Queen Lorelei."

The two women froze, facing each other before Ugly nodded. "I'm not surprised you didn't recognize me as changed as I am."

Natasha smoothed back Ugly's hair and cupped her cheek. "Your hair has grown back, and food in your belly as well as hard work have returned your figure to its curves. Still, your eyes were always lovely, and you carry yourself with true grace. Is that not so – Freya?"

Grub hooted again. "Freya! She was called the goddess of beauty. Even in the mines we heard the legend of Lady Freya, the prettiest…" His words died out, and he frowned. "Truly, is that you?"

"No longer, obviously. You are a leatherhead if you think I am the goddess of beauty now." Ugly or 'Freya' smacked her scalp with both hands in frustration.

"But now I see it." Natasha sat up and thrust back the blanket. "You must tell us exactly what happened between you and Lorelei. It may help me if I am to have any chance of saving the Prince."

"Thor?" Grub felt thoroughly confused.

"No." Freya nodded her head. "Not Thor. It was always Loki for you, wasn't it? I recall now when we were together at Lord Fandral's party he couldn't tear his eyes off you. Of course, Lorelei was stalking him at the same time, and so you and Loki never had a chance together."

"By the gods," Natasha swore, "I don't care if I never get to be with him again as long as I rip him out of the queen's clutches."

* * *

Their little heap of copper buried deep beneath the sand under the firepit grew. Natasha's store of weapons increased as well, although the knife she bought was chipped and her sword blunt and rusted. She couldn't afford true steel, but leaded iron would have to do, she admitted with a forced laugh.

Ugly no longer, Freya resumed a way of moving that made Grub see the 'goddess of beauty' inside the hideous fellow prisoner from the dungeon. Ugly or 'Freya' learned to weave baskets, to sew fur blankets, and even to throw a knife from lessons the huntress gave her in their precious spare time. When she returned with her first kill from the woods Grub thought Ugly's face would split from the smile as she held up the woodcock. The meat would be tough and difficult to chew, but he vowed to eat it with a grin and sweet words of praise if only to bask in Freya's happiness that night.

Natasha left a little later, a pole over one shoulder dripping with fresh fish and the last of the mushrooms in several baskets. It would be the final market day for a while, and the three former prisoners would need to rely on their wits and savings during the approaching winter.

Grub strung his line again when the huntress was gone and went to the water for more fish. He had gotten the taste for trout, and a fat silver fellow soon dangled from his fist. With a cry of triumph he pounded back to the cave, where Ugly – or rather, Freya the Beauty – stood in front of the fire."Eh, lass, you are pretty!" The words were forced from his lips when he saw her outlined against the flames.

 She looked up, surprised, and a pleased chuckle spilled from her lips. "It's the fresh air," Freya explained. "I think I've discovered the secret – won't the other Ladies at court be jealous?"

He was about to riposte with some taunt or perhaps beg for a kiss when they heard the stones at the edge of the lake crunch. Natasha had returned much sooner than expected.

"Natasha!" Freya gasped when she saw the white face of the huntress. "What is it?"

Ugly's hand opened in surprise at the expression Natasha wore of shock and grief, as though she bore a wound cutting her to her very innards. The trout dropped into the sand, and Burglar pounced on it, growling with hunger. "Are we to be hunted again by the guards and dragged back to the stinking cells?" Grub demanded. Newly-reclaimed freedom would be impossible to give up, and he vowed to spit any soldier who stuck his unfortunate nose into their cave.

"No." Natasha shook her head. "It's – it's just – I've got to go to the palace now, this very instant. If you decide to come with me it's fine, but I warn you, I'm going to ride fast without rest or food."

"How?" Grub was bewildered. "We have no mounts, not even a donkey."

"I have my ways. Will you come?" Her direct, blue gaze raked over them.

"You can count on me." Freya walked forward and put her hands on Natasha's shoulders.

"Might as well," Grub rumbled. Secretly he was delighted. "Always did hate to miss out on a good fight."


	19. The Wedding

An unknown time passed. Existence had become a series of food too spoiled to eat, of Loki's gorge at his own stench, of Hugleikr's petty and disgusting cruelties. As soon as the prince fluttered to a conscious state he babbled words of surrender to the ceiling and begged for forgiveness. His humanity was gone, replaced by the drive for brute survival. Nothing else was left.

When the door opened and the usual bath brought to the center of the floor, Loki was lost in a dream-world within his mind. He swung out at the black wasps he saw surrounding his head even when two guards lifted him into the hot water. As the suds were poured over his head he grasped one man's tunic and pleaded, "Is the gong still striking? Is it?"

Hugleikr frowned and released his shirt from the prince's fist. "It is silent in the room."

"Ah." Loki arranged his limbs in the bath and swatted the wasps before they could sting his mind again. "Wait!" The two men paused, and he raised his hands in supplication. "Is the gong ... do you hear it?"

The guards exchanged a look. Hugleikr whispered something into the other's ear before replying. "We just said there's no sound in here other than our voices."

They left and the door closed behind them. Loki lay back in the water and watched the bubbles form and pop with listless eyes. The guards had told him it was silent.

_So why did he still hear the ringing of the gong?_

The pounding crowded his brain so fiercely that when a maid brought in fresh bread, cheese, and fresh clothes he begged her for an answer. "Is there a sound in the hall, maiden? The sound of a large gong?"

"I don't hear anything. Clean yourself now, my prince, and have a bite. Hunger has you seeing things and hearing them as well!" With a firm nod she left as well.

Loki gathered himself long enough to get out of the water and dry off. He put on the clothes and crumbled a bit of bread in his fingers before throwing it back on the plate. The interminable bees buzzed around his face and darted inside his eardrum where he stood. When the Queen entered the chamber at last, fresh as a rose in the white dress of a young girl, Loki surged forward and captured her against the wall with his hands spanning her waist. "Is the gong ringing outside?" he demanded.

Lorelei's brow puckered. "No," she insisted. "My darling, just sit on the bed and rest. You've had a hell of a time. Sit now and eat."

She guided him to the pillows where he was able to put some cheese between his teeth. A moment later he spat the fragment of food into his palm to ask the question that burned inside of him. "Do you hear the gong?" Loki asked, wide-eyed. "Do you hear it?"

Lorelei's lips whitened, the first vestige of true emotion he had seen in her. "Loki, this is ridiculous. Do you want to leave this room? Do you want to be free as you used to? Go to your library and read books as long as you wish? And more than that, would you enjoy a beautiful woman to sit by your side and lie under you in bed at night? Winter is coming, my darling, and the castle gets cold during the long darkness. Won't you choose to come out of this hole?"

Tears spilled suddenly from his eyes. "I cannot," Loki said. "You won't let me."

"But I will! All you need to do is put your ring on my finger and ask my hand in marriage. All this will go away at once, don't you see? No more gongs, no guards. Food whenever you wish, as well as servants and jewels. Fine wines in a golden goblet, cakes topped with spun sugar. All of this is yours for the asking."

Loki frowned at the ring on his finger. With a sudden movement he drew it off and tossed it to her. "There you are," he said. "If you want the ring, have it. I never wanted the thing. I don't even know where it came from."

Lorelei drew away. "It's not the ring I want!" she shouted. "You must ask for my hand!"

"Oh." The room seemed to spin in front of him, and Loki shook his head. "Do you hear the gong?"

"There is no gong." Lorelei rose and shook her head.

"No!" Loki tossed the plate of food aside and went to the door, spread his arms in desperation to prevent her leaving. "No! I will do it. Give me the ring." She took a deep breath and handed him the jewel. Loki went down on one knee and reached for her fingers. "Do me the honor of being my lady," he begged. "Marry me, Lorelei."

A smile dawned on her lovely face. "Are you certain?"

"Yes," he pressed. "Be mine."

Slowly he pushed the ring onto her finger, and she gestured that he should get up. Rather uncomfortably Loki rose to his feet and kissed the smooth cheek offered him. The realization he was about to leave the stinking attic rocked him with sudden freedom, and more tears spilled down his cheeks.

Lorelei rose on his toes and flung her arms around his neck. "I said you would weep with happiness when I consented to wear your ring," she whispered into his neck.

* * *

Hugleikr was gone, relegated back to the barracks. In his place a valet, pert maid, and several footmen regaled Loki with new clothes, jewels, shoes, and even a curled wig. He was brought to Lorelei's own chambers since she wanted to oversee the operation – that's what she called it. An 'operation.'

Loki's old clothes were removed and taken off to be burnt. His skin was scrubbed, hair washed, chin shaved, fingernails clipped and polished. He stood numbly while they dressed him in satin breeches and a new coat with an embroidered vest. Loki could see the fleurs-de-lis on the brocade, and he traced one tiny shape with his thumb.

Silk stockings were put on his feet, new shoes with diamond buckles and high heels forced over his toes. A maid handed him a glass of brandy and a plate of macaroons before she told him to sit and wait while Lorelei was dressed for the grand wedding. More maids arrived in a flurry bearing piles of frilly underthings for the queen. A tall woman with a foreboding expression stalked in with a large leather box that probably held more jewels or perhaps the crown itself. Throughout it all Loki sat in silence, responding with a Yes when Lorelei asked him if he liked her dress, her hair, her shoes.

A sudden disturbance in the hall made him sit up and drop the plate of macaroons. "I am his brother!" someone shouted in a deep voice. "Loki, come and speak with me… damn you!"

"Who was that?" Loki asked.

"No one important, darling." Lorelei darted to the hall, followed by her retinue. Loki eyed the dark curtain hanging in one corner, and he realized he exactly what lay behind it. When he was alone, Loki rose and lifted one tassel to reveal the mirror. A blue eye looked back into his face, and a pair of red lips shouted,  _Wait for me! Hold on!_  But there was no sound, nothing but the words in his head… and the gong drowned them out in any case.

* * *

The gilt on the spired turrets made his eyes hurt in the cold sunlight, so much so the gloom of the temple grounds was a blessed relief. Lorelei let go of his arm to deliver a sharp order to the garrisons lined up outside and within the ancient stone building. Loki heard her say something about 'No interruptions' and 'kill the bitch on sight' before she dragged him inside the chill of the old walls to walk with her to where the priest waited with his acolytes.

The group seemed prepared to wash the couple's hands with water as a blessing. It signified rebirth, virginity, a new start. Loki stopped Lorelei just as they reached the nave. "Do you hear the gong?" he asked. "Is it real?" A flash of quick disgust filled her face, and he remembered something someone had once shouted at her that she wanted him only because he had always denied her, that he was the one thing she couldn't have.

Now she had him it wouldn't be long before her sights would flicker to the next toy out of reach. He knew it as surely as he knew – he wasn't clear what he knew any longer. His time would slip through the glass like sand, and soon he would be able to join Frigga at those calm shores where the Valkyries served the heroes each night and hunted with them by day. He only had to wait for the poisoned wine, the serpent under his pillow, the dagger in his side when Lorelei tired of him.

Loki could put up with it if the gong were silent at last and stopped ringing in his ears.

"Just kneel," she hissed at him. "Keep your hand on my arm, and for the sake of the gods try to look happy."

He nodded. The sheaves of the bridal circlet she wore tickled his cheek, and Loki sneezed.

The sound echoed throughout the still, ancient space, and everything froze. The priest paused in his reading from the ancient scroll of sacred mysteries, and the acolyte beside him held the flame poised over a red taper in a holder worked like a fish.

* * *

It was the beat between the ticks of the clock, an instant of silence before everything was destroyed.

* * *

Loki ducked and shuddered when he heard a huge boom outside of the temple followed by screams and more crashes. The entire group assembled in the temple – ladies in waiting, courtiers, Lorelei's followers – turned to look at the entrance. Several of them cursed. Some of the younger attendants got on their knees for a better look.

The door, like the temple, was made of solid rock and had stood there for untold centuries. Wide swaths of carved marble hugged the portico, but as Loki's eyes widened in surprise the entire thing peeled back. The stones seemed to hang in midair before the entire front of the temple crumbled into dust.

Instantly the proud lords and their ladies started to their feet, all crying out in terror. Lorelei felt for Loki's arm, but he ignored her and started forward, intent on the scene. As the front of the building split open, he saw the guards outside running off with arms waving wildly overhead – a sight that nearly made him bellow with insane laughter.

Framed by the ruined temple, a girl with red hair sat on the back of a monster. Loki knew her. She was Natasha the huntress, and she rode the draugen of Østenblad as calmly as any master rider on a fine steed.

Apparently she had never slain the beast after all.

The skin of the draugen was green, and long feelers dripped back from mighty jaws. Two huge horns sprouted from the large, slanted head, and she had her fists wrapped around the antennae to guide the beast. Powerful forelegs were planted on the step leading to the narthex, but when the priest shouted and started forward the creature howled and reared up on its back legs.

Instantly the lords and ladies rose and scurried to the transept chapels, falling over each other in their haste to reach the back of the temple and relative safety. Lorelei screamed his name, but Loki was lost, deep within his dream.

He let go of Lorelei's hand and stepped towards the huntress on the back of the draugen.

The huntress whispered something to the beast, and it settled once more. "Call off your guards," Natasha shouted in warning to the queen.

"Go to hell and die there, devil spawn!" Lorelei returned. "Guards! To me!"

One muscled soldier came forth instantly, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand. In it he held his sword. "Aye, Majesty. Although I'd like to save the bitch for a quick feel of her cunny before I slit her throat!" he called with rough laughter that sounded like stones falling into a wheelbarrow.

"That is enough." The priest sounded incensed. "This is a holy place of worship - mind your tongue."

Natasha whispered to the draugen again, and the beast put its head on one side as though it regarded the man with curiosity. A quick snapping motion followed, and a fresh bout of screams started as the guard was plucked off the floor and became nothing more than a pair of jerking legs inside the beast's mouth. The thing seemed to gulp, and in a spray of blood the guard disappeared.

"Call it off!" Lorelei shouted. "Come and face us without your monster, fiend's brat, and I will allow you to keep your head."

"Face you," Natasha repeated as though she were considering the offer. "Did you give us a chance for parlay before you slaughtered Astrid? Or poisoned King Odin? Or tried to poison me? Or tortured the prince until he had no choice but agree to anything you wanted from him?"

A long ribbon of murmurs greeted these words. Loki shook his head to dislodge the bees and wasps that were flying at him and buzzing directly in his ear.

"Loki  _must_ marry me if he is to continue living," Lorelei said with triumph. "Allow me to give you a bit of news, huntress, as well as the court assembled here. Prince Loki lay with me when his father the king still lived. If he does not take my hand now it is incestuous treason and a hanging offence, and I will accuse him in front of the court. Two days hence his neck will snap with the rope, and his corpse will hang from the gibbet. Loki will take me as his bride now or wed Death."

"No." The word came from the pews, where one slender female remained after the escape of the audience. She had a companion, a furious-looking man with tiny stature and a dark scowl. The woman stood, and Loki frowned – the face was familiar, but her dark curls were short clusters on her head just starting to grow back from what looked like a seizure of anger with a sharp set of shears. Did he know her at all? It was difficult to tell.

Boom, boom, boom, went the gong, and if felt as though the wasps stung him right inside his brains.

"No, Lorelei," the woman said, "Prince Loki did  _not_  lay with you that night. You told me to trick him into your bed, which I did to my shame. However, the prince was already in his cups that night, and he did nothing but sleep there among the sheets in a drunken stupor. You rode me against my will in the pillows, and after you were finished with me you pushed me in the dungeon to hide what you had done. I, the Lady Freya of the Asgard court, assert this is the truth. I will swear it in a blood oath."

Loki shook his head. It seemed he had just been cleared of a dreadful crime, but the insects buzzed too loudly for him to understand it or even hear the words clearly.

The dulcet tones of the queen curled around the temple. "Did the huntress confess to you she can never bear your children, Loki?" Lorelei asked. "I looked at the records of the healers when her stepfather was brought in. She is a useless serf with a barren womb."

"I'm right here, and you may talk to me if you have something to say. Should Prince Loki truly wants you as his bride I will take the draugen and leave now with no further slaughter," Natasha offered. "However, I do want to make certain it is his free choice first."

"But it's true, isn't it?" The queen's eyes narrowed. "What I just said about you. Isn't it? You will never bear children to any man."

The huntress lifted her chin and expelled a long breath. "Yes. It's true."

The tiny man next to Lady Freya leapt to his feet and held a chipped dagger overhead. "Kill the bitch, huntress!"

"Kill her!" Another voice joined his, and incredibly it came from the back of the space where the bootlickers stood and huddled in fear.

"She took my lands," one courtier declared.

"She stole my jewels."

"She said she'd have my husband."

"She slit the belly of my whippet dog for sniffing her skirts," a young boy cried.

"Enough!" Natasha rose and jumped off the beast, patted its side, and strode forward. Loki suddenly felt a tumble of lust in his bones, belly and sex at the way the huntress walked. She was so sure of herself with courage in every line. "As I have said, it is the Prince's choice. Tell me you want her, Loki, and I will leave now and never return."

"I…" Lorelei reached his side first and looked up into his eyes. "I never meant to hurt you. My darling, all the good things came when I was at your side, do you remember? The wine? The baths? The food? The gong was all to make you see the truth - it was for your own good."

As though he were a puppet controlled by strings, Loki watched his arm move of its own accord. He wound it around Queen Lorelei's waist, pulled her close, and buried his lips in her hair.

Underneath the luxurious curls he found the delicate neck. A push one way, a tug the other – and Lorelei's spine broke with a distinct snap as he twisted her head on the slender body with both hands. There was no sound from her mouth at all. The queen's limbs spasmed, and her twitching corpse fell onto the carpet.

An uproar started around him as though he stood in the waves of the starry stream curving through Milkwood Forest. Loki stood in silence, and Natasha regarded him gravely over the fallen body of the dead queen.

"Do you hear it?" he asked her. "Do you hear the gong?"


	20. Sleep

_In the temple Natasha and Loki stared at each other. At the ruined nave the draugen shifted, its huge claws clicking on the stone steps. Smoke from the candles rose in the air along with masonry dust._

_And Loki… Loki's eyes rolled back in his head, and he crumpled to lie at her feet._

* * *

 

"Is there any word?" Natasha sat by Loki's side, holding a steaming bowl of herbs under the prince's nose. She had prepared the treatment many times since the scene at the temple, but there had been no change. Prince Loki lay in a deep sleep, motionless except for the slight rise and fall of his chest and the slowing beat of his heart.

"No." Prince Thor – now the King of Asgard – sat heavily in a chair near hers and put his head in his hands. "I have sent out a fresh wave of guards to find my Lady Sif, but there is no sign of her. Evil has run rampant through the palace, Natasha, and we must work hard to shovel the shit out of this place."

Natasha tried blowing the steam into Loki's face, but he didn't respond. Under her palm his fingers were cold and still as though she embraced a corpse. "I wonder," she said softly. "You told me you and your lady were planning to rescue Loki. Is it possible Lorelei discovered the attempt?"

Thor raised his face to reveal red-rimmed eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Your majesty," she pressed, "have you searched the dungeons?"

He erupted to his feet and trod on Burglar's tail. The cat yowled and fled to the opposite corner of the room where she spat out several feline curses and started to lick herself furiously. "Do you think she could be there?"

Carefully Natasha replaced the steaming cup on the bedside table and smoothed Loki's hair back from his white forehead. "With the former queen anything is possible." He hesitated, and she nodded. "Go on. Loki's safe here with me."

Thor strode to the door and yanked it open with enough force to make it crash against the wall. "Stay with him," he cautioned. "I'll return anon to give you a spell of rest."

Natasha nodded and watched him leave. Heart filled with sorrow, she bent over Loki and allowed herself to nestle in his neck and shoulder before she broke down. Tears hot as blood coursed down her face, and for one horrible moment she thought she would see red streaks from her eyes if she went to look at herself in the mirror.

The mirror. Optica Eterna. It had been the source of all the evil along with Lorelei's twisted desires.

The tears were salt on her skin. Natasha looked at the calm face of the prince and with horror realized she was about to say her goodbyes to him. "You – there was never anyone like you," she whispered. "So severe when we first met! And passionate underneath. I never would have guessed from the way you greeted me in the little room downstairs, so angry and curious you seemed at the time – my own furious scholar."

His black lashes never moved. Natasha knuckled his chin gently, feeling the strong line of jaw now slack in sleep. Lorelei had stolen the best of him, trampled the light and force that was Loki so nothing remained but the husk. Already the healers had told her it was only a matter of time before he stopped breathing. The strong heart Natasha had once been sent to harvest from his chest would still its course, and Loki would float away from her like a feather from plucking a brace of ducks on the wind or a boat sailing over the edge of the world.

Natasha sat up suddenly, pulled the shirt out of her mannish breeches, and wiped her eyes with the soft material. She refused to send him off with melancholy thoughts. After all they had been for each other Loki deserved the best she had to give – even in the twilight of his final days.

Thus she rose and found Ragnarsdrápa. Natasha took a deep breath to steady her voice before she began to read to Loki, willing her soul into the ancient story so he might hear it inside his darkness and be comforted, if only for a few moments.

* * *

 

The fire had died down when the door to Loki's chamber opened again. "Huntress, it is time you went to your chamber," the healer said. The man was tall with cold features, and Natasha had disliked him at first sight.

"No thank you," she smiled. Her pleasant face hid her determination to stay with Loki until the very end. Not even the strictest of lectures would part her from his side. In any case, would the man try to give Loki some of the dreadful potion that had nearly killed Ivan? She would make certain such a thing would never happen.

"The king says you must go and sleep," the healer insisted.

"The king may come and deliver the message himself," she responded with a calm she didn't feel. Natasha doubted Thor even cared where she stayed, particularly when he was engaged in the hunt for the Lady Sif.

Natasha would like to meet Sif herself and discover if Ivan had reached her estate. Or did her step-father still wander the darkness as well, another empty corpse, doomed to wander Asgard forever on the back of a bewildered horse with pearls tied to its bridle?

Natasha shook her head, determined to forget such gloomy fantasies. The healer tried to stare her down, but impatiently she told him to get out and returned her gaze to Loki. As soon as the door closed she pulled back the sheets, got into the bed with him, and wrapped one arm around his waist. "I'm here," she whispered to the dreaming prince. "I'm here."

* * *

 

The next thing she knew there was a dark figure between her and the last of the burning coals. Natasha started up, and a knife shook from her sleeve into her fist to slash at the figure.

"Huntress!" The whisper was urgent. "Stand down. It is Loki's brother. I mean, it's me, Thor."

"Oh, by the gods!" Horrified, Natasha put away her knife, reflecting she could have killed the current king with one direct hit. "Your Majesty, I'm so very sorry. It's been – well – we've had…"

His large palms pressed her back into the chair. "I know. I simply came to tell you that you were correct – Sif was indeed held in the dungeons."

Natasha nodded. By that point Lorelei's crimes were so many she was nearly dulled to them. "Is your lady well?"

"Perfectly well, thanks to you. In fact, I don't know where any of us would be if it weren't for your help." Thor knelt by the fire, drew back the screen, and tossed several logs on the coals. The flames lit up his somber face until he dropped his head into his hands. "Loki and I were the best of friends when we were young." She could just make out the muffled words through the shapely fingers. "Later we grew apart – I was closer to my father, and of course Loki was just like Frigga. Still, Loki always called us the Odinson Boys, used to state if we put our minds together there was nothing we couldn't accomplish."

"He seemed cold, but once I got to know him I realized the depth of his passion," Natasha agreed. "When we first met he was eager for conversation, to share his love of books with someone who would understand. Lorelei stole that from us."

Thor picked up a poker and stabbed the fire so a clutter of sparks flew up the chimney. "You caught his eye from the first. Once he told me there were two people who understood him. At the end I think there were three."

"Frigga," Natasha nodded. "And Astrid."

"And you."

"What was your mother like?"

"Ah." She could hear his smile, the way his voice caressed the words when he spoke. "Queen Frigga was severe just as Loki was, but when she smiled you felt the sun sprang from the clouds to warm you with her glory. She was tender as well, and she loved my brother more than anything."

"I'm certain she loved you as well."

"Of course."

A slight silence fell, and Natasha thought she heard tiny splatters against the window. She rose and went to the casement to draw back the heavy curtain, revealing the fall of snow, just as she had thought. White flakes swirled in the light from the fire, dotting her reflection in the cold glass.

"I'll not leave his side," Natasha blurted.

"Why should you?" Thor rose to stand beside her and gaze out at the snow.

"The healers told me it was your wish."

He drew in his breath. "Then they lied, for I never said such a thing."

Their eyes met, and Natasha tightened her lips. "Your Majesty, I am going to sleep here tonight and all the nights as long as Loki lives. I won't let anyone take him from us any sooner than – than what remains."

"I will make it a decree that you are not to be disturbed."

"May I speak with the Lady Sif when she is recovered? I'd like to see if there is any news at all about my stepfather."

"You may see her in the morning the moment she tells me she is ready." Thor clapped her shoulder, and she walked with him to the door. "Please send for me if there is any change at all," he said.

"Yes, I will." Natasha closed the door and turned to Loki, when a sudden thought squeezed icy fingers over her heart. She jumped and reached the door in a bound, pulled it open, and shouted, "Thor!"

He stopped in the passage, and his eyes widened. "What is it?"

"It's fine, don't panic. Just – could you sit with Loki for a few moments longer? Please?"

Thor's mouth formed an O of surprise before his customary good humor took over. "I would be happy to stay as long as you like, but is there anything you need?"

Natasha's thoughts were racing. "Tell me, is the former queen's mirror still hanging in the room where she once stayed?"

"I believe so. Of course Lorelei's items will be sent back to her homeland eventually, but for the moment nothing has been disturbed as far as I know."

"Very well." Natasha pulled him into the room. "Just sit by his bed and make certain the healers can pour nothing down his throat. Do you hear me?  _Nothing._  I'll return as soon as I can."

She closed the door and ran down the hall past sleepy guards who hid their yawns behind their fists. Lorelei's room lay around several corners, and once Natasha had to stop to disentangle her shirt from the pike of an old suit of armor. Her patience shredded as she ripped the material free and dashed to the door of the room where she had first been given the job of cutting Loki's heart from his chest with her dagger.

There were several more guards on either side of the door, but they seemed Aesir in origin. Natasha murmured she had King Thor's permission to enter, that she needed to go inside and find something to help the sleeping prince. One guard shrugged and the other, a young woman with short blond hair, yawned and jerked her thumb at the door. "Go on then," she said.

Inside the room was nearly black. Natasha negotiated it from memory and found her way to the windows where she drew back the curtains. The snow was falling harder as the night stretched on, forming clumps that pattered on the glass like Burglar's footsteps. The soft whiteness lit the room enough for her to see her destination: the covered mirror still hanging on the wall.

Natasha stepped to the glass and fisted the dark material over it. She breathed a quick but fervent prayer to Frigga, not quite certain what she wanted to ask. Perhaps help, maybe peace – or maybe she would just leave it in the former Queen's hands, the one who smiled with the glory of the rays of the sun, according to her eldest son.

_Optica Eterna._

She had seen it in action, seen the strange glass reflect impossible images. Loki – always it had been Loki – once in his library, once on the ground after that terrible day, lying in the blood she had prepared to mimic his death. Perhaps it could give her a clue where he was now, where his soul lay as his body froze in a living death.

Her own face was reflected there, hanging in the dark like a dim lantern.

"Frigga, please," she whispered. "Show me."

Hardly daring to breathe, Natasha watched as a network of cracks appeared over the glass. They were so tiny they looked like cobwebs spun by an impossibly rapid spider. "Yes," she urged. "Show me."

The cracks resolved and became a thick mist. It parted in the center and Natasha saw Loki bound on a rock, tied with shimmering bands that covered his eyes, mouth, and limbs. He wrestled against them, but the attempts only made the ropes tighten around him to bite into his skin.

Next to him, of all people, was the figure of Astrid the guard. She watched Loki with her head bowed, a hopeless expression on her face as though there was no way for her to help him.

Yes, Astrid stood there as Natasha had seen her last, the white hair silver in one ray of late summer light filtering through the trees. The woman turned, raised her hand to wave, and Natasha waved back.

They stared at each other in silence. The Optica Eterna never broadcast sound, Natasha recalled. However, Astrid's lips began to move with speech, and Natasha tiptoed closer to see what the woman said. Something with two syllables, a word beginning with M.

_Mattress?_  Was that it? What could she mean by that?

Natasha shook her head in frustration and lifted her hands to show she didn't understand. Astrid frowned, repeated the word several times.

It was hopeless. Natasha was ready to drop the material when Astrid held up one palm. She made several gestures with her lips as though she was kissing the air.

And then it hit her.  _Message._  That was the word the guard mouthed at her. With a sudden click, Natasha remembered something Astrid had given her in the forest – a kiss on the cheek.

It hadn't been for her. Astrid had said the kiss was for Loki, and Natasha was supposed to give the message to him herself. However, she never had a moment nor thought to do so. Shortly after Astrid had been killed. Natasha had flown to the hunting lodge with Loki where Ivan had been taken so ill, and shortly after they had been recaptured.

Therefore Astrid's message had gone undelivered.

_Message? Was that it?_  Natasha mouthed silently to the vision inside the Optica Eterna. There was no response as the cracks covered the mirror again. Astrid disappeared, and the glass went dark.

A kiss. The huntress thought of Loki losing his strength like sand through a glass, and she curled her hands into fists. If a simple message was all Natasha had left, she would bring the kiss to the prince and give it to him – one last gift from a woman who had loved him. She would deliver it with all the tenderness Astrid had displayed when she recounted to Natasha her memories of Prince Loki.

She turned, and that was when the realization struck her. Natasha was no longer alone in the dark room.

"Hello, Huntress," Hugleikr said with a broad grin.


	21. The Kiss

Hugleikr's breath was foul with rot-gut, and his last meal had plainly been filled with onions. Natasha shifted to find her best position and make certain her weight was distributed for a flying kick to his ugly, sneering face. She already knew how to get him down by using his strength against him.

"Did you miss me kicking your arse in for you?" she jibed. "Obviously you're desperate for more, so eager for me to do it again."

His face took on a crafty expression, and his yellowed eyes flashed both ways in the dark room. A feeling of sick horror squeezed Natasha's heart at the realization - Hugleikr hadn't arrived alone. For a moment she was the little girl again, alone in the dark.

"Come out," he grinned. "Might as well have some fun with the spitfire before I tear her head from her body and stuff it down her neck."

"We do this quick and easy, with as little blood as possible." Hugleikr's hidden partner stepped forward into the snowlight coming from the paned glass. He was yet another guard, but taller and more slender in build. "The new king sings her praises, so we want to make it seem she's done it herself out of misery over her lover, you might say."

"I want my bloodright," Hugleikr complained.

The other guard ignored his whinging and stepped up to Natasha. He held out a dagger poised in one strong hand. "Well?" he asked. She could see he was tall and handsome with curling brown hair and a strong chin, but something in his face reminded him of the brothers who used to tie her down and force her to sleep in the cellar for days while they had their way with her. Perhaps it was the easy way his lips slicked with saliva, as though he spent the dark hours of the night dreaming of ways to make those smaller than him submit in a myriad of brutal ways.

"Will you take the easy way out of this, huntress, and slit your own throat with this knife I offer?" the man asked. "Or will you force me to part your legs and stick my cock into you before Hugleikr murders you in the dark?"

Natasha held out her hand for the dagger. She had no intention of slitting her own throat, but she silently vowed to leave as big a mess as she could so those who found her body the following morning would know exactly who defiled her.

The man put the dagger in her hand but curled his fingers over her fist. "Ronan," he whispered.

"What?" Natasha pulled on the dagger and felt the sharp edge slit her thumb. Good, perhaps she could leave a few of his fingers on the floor as a signature.

"Ronan," he repeated. "It's my name. I plan on having my share as well if you do anything other than off yourself." Ronan's breath hissed as he found her other hand and pushed it to the front of his breeches. A huge phallus swelled under the worn leather, and he drew back his lips. "I'm ready. I'm always ready. I might even do it to your bleeding corpse. What do you think of that? Does it make you wet your knickers a little bit to imagine such a large serpent crawling between those pretty lips to blow my load inside…"

With a grunt, Natasha flipped the dagger hilt-first and shoved it into the man's belly. His eyes widened, and he reached for her, but she was able to twist away and get Lorelei's large bed between them.

"The little cat has claws!" Ronan cursed, one hand over his stomacher.

"I told you," Hugleikr grumbled. "You never listen to me, always think you know best. Always think I'm stupid."

Natasha listened intently. An argument between them was something she could use. "I always thought you were intelligent," she said in dulcet tones. "When I was in the dungeon we used to talk in trembling voices about Hugleikr the guard."

"The bitch is lying," Ronan said wearily. "Corner her, or it will be  _you_  in the dungeon if we're discovered."

"Come and get me, you bastard!" Natasha shouted. She prayed one of the guards outside would hear and come inside or at least send for the king.

"No need to screech." Hugleikr's smile spread like melting lard. "We sent off the guards on a little holiday. Down towards the red sea, you might say. Eh?"

She opened her mouth to shout again, but Ronan launched forward and pinned her in the corner of bed and wall. One hand came over her mouth, a strong thigh thrust between her legs, and her fists were imprisoned overhead in an iron grip.

With all the strength she could gather, Natasha stamped on the arch of his foot with her boot. He hissed again but only pressed closer. Behind him Hugleikr's eyes gleamed, and she watched as he caressed his own crotch with a dirty palm. "Going to do her now?" he asked.

Natasha smacked her forehead into Ronan's face. The impact made her see stars, but she heard the crunch of his nose as it broke. "Little, filthy slut," he swore. "Death's too good for you. Hugleikr, give me the fucking rope and tie up this whore. I'm going to piss on her first before she has my prick, and yours, and mine again. You'll be doing it all night, bitch, before you're allowed to die."

Hugleikr laughed, a high sound of idiotic humor. He fumbled at his belt and produced a coil of twine.

She struggled against them, but two were just too many to fight off – not when the men were as big and ruthless as Ronan. Thinking frantically, Natasha waited for a moment to plant her knee in his balls or bite off his most tender flesh – soon the man would discover she had teeth and knew how to use them.

Her arms were secured behind her back and bound tightly, the jute biting into her skin. Ronan bent and ripped open her shirt before he bent and bit one breast hard enough for her to shout with the pain. At the same time Hugleikr produced his belt and wrapped it around her ankles.

After that things moved very quickly.

Natasha was carried, plunging and screaming, to a wide chair with embroidered cushions. Ronan tore off his own shirt and bound it around her mouth, his nostrils flaring in the soft light from the falling snow. He ripped open his fly and felt inside for his erection…

The door burst open. A lady with long, dark hair carrying a sword and a lantern flew in. When she took in the scene – Natasha bound to the chair, Ronan with his hand thrust into his breeches – she swore and darted forth to spear Hugleikr through his belly with her sword.

The huge guard clutched his midriff, eyes widening as he felt his innards spill over his hands. Slowly he sank to his knees and pitched forward on his face.

Ronan seemed unfazed by the new turn of events. He grinned and beckoned to the lady, who still held her dripping sword. "Your turn next, love," he said.

"I think not." With a crash Thor pushed back the door so violently the hinges broke. He doubled his fist and drove it into Ronan's chin. The guard flew up in the air, twisted, and fell on his hindquarters. With a look of comic dismay he stared up at Thor before falling back in a faint.

"Mmmm!" Natasha struggled against her bonds. She managed to stand, and the lady tore off the dirty shirt covering her mouth before bending to remove the belt lashed around her ankles. "Thor," she gasped, "Why are you here? Where is Loki?"

"I left him when we heard your cries. My lady Sif said we had to…"

Natasha didn't stop to hear the rest. Holding Ronan's foul shirt over her naked breasts, she felt for the discarded dagger, leaped over Sif, and tore into the hall and ran towards the room where Loki lay. After the fight she had just had as well her legs cramped quickly, but she ignored the pain. Her heart was a hammer – no, a gong in her chest. If anyone tried to hurt him again, she would have their guts for breakfast.

In the doorway of the prince's chamber she stopped. The healer stood over Loki, holding a vial of green potion. The smell hit her nose instantly.

_Dittany and rue._

There was no time to stop and think. Natasha launched the dagger, swift and true, at the man's arm. It shot through the air and buried itself in his hanging sleeve made of yellow velvet.

"What the hell?" the healer yelped.

Natasha smacked the potion out of his hand and pushed him back onto the fine carpet where the man landed on his buttocks with a squawk. She wasted no time on him before bounding to her feet and rushing to the bedside. Loki lay as before, perhaps a bit paler against the fine lawn of the pillows under his head. Forcing her hands to remain steady, she smoothed his black hair away from his face and leaned to catch the scent of the soap she had used earlier to wash him. It combined with the tea she had spilled onto his collar in a desperate attempt to get him to drink something.

A loud thud echoed behind her. "Natasha, what has happened?" Thor demanded.

"The healer was about to poison him, the one squalling there on the rug. I spitted his wing for him before he could take Loki's life." She never took her eyes off the prince. "Take him out and put him in the dungeons for now before we begin an investigation into their system of medicines and guild-payments. These maggots have fed on our flesh long enough."

"Is this true?" Sif's voice was low and musical.

Natasha ignored them and bent again over Loki. She held her hand under his nose and held her breath. For a long, heartbreaking moment she thought he had left her and she had been too late before she felt the slight flutter of the air from his lungs.

"I was supposed to give you this message a long time ago," she murmured into his ear. "Take this sign from Astrid the guard, Frigga the queen, and Natasha the huntress – three women who will always love you."

Her heart bleeding, Natasha bent over his still, white form and pressed her lips to his cheek. She held the kiss long enough to feel scalding tears course over her fingers to land on his skin.

Outside the snow pattered against the window. The fire crackled and popped as the log Thor had put on earlier settled on the glowing coals. The king himself cleared his throat, and his robe rustled as he turned away, perhaps to hide a tear…

And stopped.

Loki's eyelids shivered. A long sigh seemed to stream from his mouth. Natasha sat up, a sob catching in her throat as she watched his eyes open and lock onto her face.

She meant to stand up and give him room, but with a quick movement Loki's arm shot out from the heavy blankets and cupped the back of her neck. His lips spread in a smile of what could only be called pure mischief.

"Did you miss me?" Loki asked her.

* * *

 

"Your step-father is quite well." Sif sat beside the brazier, feeding it knots of pine and cones of sweet-smelling wood. They were in an enclosed courtyard with a half-roof open to the sky. Loki insisted fresh air was good for him, but in the snow it was the best they could do while he grew stronger.

"That's good news," the prince snapped. "After all we've been through the past few months, if Ivan had died I would have gone on a rampage."

"No you won't," Natasha said calmly. "At least, you  _will_  go on a rampage, but it will be against those vultures who call themselves healers."

"With the king's permission," Sif added pointedly.

"We'll get his permission." Loki spoke with absolute determination.

"Did you see Ivan yourself, Sif?" Natasha was nearly afraid to ask. He had been so weak when she and Loki had sent him into the forest on horseback so they could confront Lorelei themselves.

"No, since I was thrown into the dungeons before I could return home. However, my brother has sent a letter to tell me he was found at the edge of our estate. He was nearly as weak as the prince here…"

Loki uttered a howl of protest. "I'm not weak! If you lot only allowed me on my feet and to eat beefsteaks instead of feeble broth, by the gods you would see my strength."

"I was going to add," Sif continued with one sidelong glance at Loki, "since then your stepfather continues to improve. We can go to visit him as soon as you are ready."

"We are ready now," Loki added with an indignant huff.

"Do you realize you sound exactly like Ivan when he was your patient? And actually," Natasha said with a surge of triumph, "I have a present for you."

"Oh?" A look of amused curiosity glinted in Loki's green eyes. "I happen to enjoy presents."

"Maybe I should go and find the king." Sif rose to leave, but Natasha stopped her.

"No, you'll enjoy this just as much as Loki will." She felt in the pocket of her greatcoat and produced a linen-wrapped bundle to hand to the prince.

Loki received it and carefully folded back the fine material to reveal a strange device. It had a handle with a trigger attached to a long tube. "I give in," he said at last. "What is it?"

"Something called a fowling piece. You point it at a target and pull the trigger – no, please don't point it at me – and the resulting explosion launches a lead ball to obliterate your victim."

Sif exclaimed and pushed closer to look at the device. "How very cunning! I would dearly love to possess one. But what will you use as a target?"

"Certainly not my chest." Gently Natasha pushed the barrel of the revolver away and beckoned for the others to follow her to the open window of the courtyard, looking out over the grounds of the palace. An old oak grew ten paces away, and a large circular object hung from one of the branches. "I thought you might like to try this instead."

Loki's breath caught in his throat, and he felt for Natasha's arm. "Is that what I think it is?"

"The gong. Yes."

He bared his teeth, raised his arm, and pointed the present at the disk, waving in the late winter wind. There was an explosion, and a covey of pigeons broke from a nearby brush. Loki raised the barrel of the fowling piece to his lips and blew the smoke curling up from the barrel.

Natasha nodded with satisfaction at the ragged hole blooming in the center of the ruined instrument. "You're a natural," she said.


	22. New Morning

Loki was exhausted from lying in bed. It sounded impossible, but reclining back on heaps of pillows was far more tiring than any muddy tramp through Milkwood forest. When Natasha tried to feed him more soup he turned his head at the last moment, and the stuff trickled down his neck.

She dropped the spoon into the bowl with a peevish splash and sat back. "Now you're just being a spoilt child."

Restlessly his legs stirred under the covers. "I'm tired of being waited on – bathed – cajoled – prodded – poked…"

With a grin she put the bowl on the little table beside his bed. "No one is poking you."

"No, more's the pity." Loki allowed her to see his leer before he eyed her attire. "Forcing you to dress in gowns and robes of state, are they?"

He had forgotten her laugh, husky and low as it uncurled from the hollow of her throat. "I must admit I can't wait to return to my hunting leathers." Natasha plucked at the starched frills at her neckline with disdain. The dress she wore must have come from some disused closet or forgotten chest. It was the exact color of a river salmon except where the silk had faded. The original owner was obviously larger than Natasha in every dimenstion, and the neckline gaped to show one rounded shoulder. Irritably she yanked up her sleeve.

Loki sat forward. "Why hasn't Thor given you some decent clothes? For the sake of the gods, Natasha. This is dire – although I must admit it does have some advantages." He tugged on the sleeve to expose her shoulder once more.

Instantly she seized his wrist and gritted her teeth, challenging him. Loki forgot his complaining and laughed as he attempted to get one arm around the slim waist of the huntress and draw her in for a kiss. As Natasha pulled away he lunged forward, heedless of the sheets and blankets pooling at his hips, intent on capturing her.

Outside the light was a dim blue, and the sky threatened more snow. No matter when her hair lit the room with a nimbus, Loki considered. Natasha seemed to carry her own glow with her.

Excited by their tussle, the prince and the huntress faced off across the expanse of bed. He threatened her with a pillow, and with a curious mrrrow! Burglar jumped up to investigate.

"What is the meaning of this?" someone called in a strident tone. Loki's brows twitched into a frown as the door opened and one of the women from the kitchens came in, a heavy basket over her arm. She was followed by a bevy of duchesses and young countesses – he saw Skadi among them, as well as Iduna and the Baldr girl.

The woman with the basket began to gabble just as Natasha rose to her feet. "I should think so!" the cook said in a scandalized voice. "Nice doings I must say – perched right on his bed you were! And what is a cat doing in here? Nasty, dirty animal."

"It doesn't matter, Noakes," Loki began. "Don't touch the cat. And Natasha's a friend, a savior really…"  _Savior,_  he mocked himself. What a ridiculous word. What he really meant was Natasha was his breath, his blood, his very heart.

There was no chance to explain. Skadi pushed forward to give Loki a kiss on his cheek. Iduna produced an immense bouquet and a bottle of wine. Noakes began to unpack a long series of dishes, all seeming to involve tapioca in one form or another.

By the time Loki untangled himself from the melee, Natasha had disappeared.

* * *

"Damnation! Perdition! Murder! Hell's Bells!" Loki paused at the door of the bedchamber Natasha had been given. It was one of the smallest rooms in the palace, barely clean and with a few hooks for her clothes. The salmon dress hung on one of them, as well as some other patched and stained dresses she had been forced to wear.

The place didn't even have a window, unimaginable for a huntress who had lived her life outside among the trees. It was also vacant of red-haired females.

No wonder she had run off. He imagined she was back in her woods again, away from pitifully small rooms and gowns that should have been used as dishrags. He nodded grimly to himself and went to find his coat, intent on disobeying Thor. Loki was going to Milkwood whether the King agreed or not.

The prince burst out of the room and heard Freya deep in an argument with one of the smallest men Loki had ever seen. He had a bristling beard that jutted up into her face as he hissed something in a sarcastic undertone. "Spose you won't want me any longer," the man grumbled. "Now that you're all beautiful again, your lord will carry you off to the chapel next. Eh?"

The little man was right, Freya's stolen beauty had returned. Blue-black hair swished over her shoulders, and the dusky skin turned darker on her high cheekbones as she warmed to her argument with the little man. "I rather hoped my beauty wouldn't be an issue at all, Grub."

"I was a real shite to you in that dungeon," the man called Grub interrupted. "Anyone with any sort of brains would tell me to shove off so I could go and live my life alone, just as I deserve.  _Especially_  a beauty with blue blood – she shouldn't waste a moment longer on the likes of me."

Freya seemed to grit her teeth before she wound her hand in his collar and plopped onto the floor, ignoring her elegant dress.

"What are you doing?" Grub demanded. "Those flagstones are colder than an ice-giant's balls."

"What does it look like? I'm making it easier for you to kiss me, you dolt."

Loki heard a sharp intake of breath before Grub bent over to claim her mouth. His knees bent and made his backside stuck out in the air. The sight was awkward, funny and, Loki realized, incredibly tender.

Jealousy at their happiness flooded his limbs, and he turned to stride away from the pair.

* * *

Loki sidled over the palace wall and made his way to the edge of the stream, now bubbling under a scrim of ice. He could see the sleeping fish through the mirrored surface, their tails moving lazily with the rush of water.

He hopped across on several mossy stones sticking above the ice and strode through the trees. As soon as he reached Natasha's little house he would back her against the wall and kiss her breathless - unless, of course, he wrung her neck first. How dare she ride off without telling him! Filled with those indignant thoughts, he reached the cottage.

And stopped.

The roof was gone, and charred timbers pointed at the sky like gnarled fingers of an accusing witch. One wall had fallen in, and the door hung from a single hinge. Lorelei's guards had been thorough as they destroyed every thing belonging to the Huntress of Milkwood Forest.

He could see inside where once Natasha had stood in a fine lawn robe in front of the fire. As though he were in a magic corridor that led to the past, Loki stepped forward and pictured her kneeling by the hearth to put on an extra knot of wood. The fire had outlined her strong flanks and upright nipples through the old linen, and he had forced himself to leave before he took advantage of her brilliant beauty and proud isolation.

The memory made him groan with want, made his sex press against the buttons of his breeches.

"They did a good job." Her voice was behind him, and he whirled to catch her standing ankle-deep in snow. Somehow she had found her old leathers, although the skin of her wrist was pale from the cold.

"Natasha." All thoughts of scolds and accusations fled at the sight of her. Loki knew his expression betrayed him, that it bore the same pleading look the little man called Grub had when he bent to kiss the lovely face of Freya. "Please will you come back with me? Will you be mine? There is no one left – Thor has banished all the guards. Lorelei is dead, as well as that bastard Hugleikr. Ronan rots in the dungeon, awaiting the axe. Nothing lies between us except a few paces."

Yes, nothing between them save the tiniest space, but the determination in her face showed it was the greatest barrier of all.

"I can't go back to the palace." Natasha's voice was low but filled with intensity. "Today was the second time I took to my heels like a coward. If I return, I'll only do it again."

"Like a coward?" Loki felt his eyes bulge before cold fury gripped him and he lost what little self-possession remained. Before she could move he circled her waist and yanked her against his chest. "Run away? Except you were running  _towards_  the danger when you stood up against Hugleikr and Ronan. You ran back to the castle to save my life twice. You rode a draugr –  _a draugr!_  – into battle to deliver me from a living death. No, huntress. I'll listen to anything you say, but don't you ever call yourself a coward again. And if you wish I'll move to the hunting lodge or even the cave where you stayed with Freya and the little man. What's his name? Oh yes, Grub. Listen, we'll do whatever you wish, but please don't leave me." He couldn't help shaking her with the last few words, and Natasha's face tipped back, the green eyes half-lidded against the creamy skin, the red curls shook back over her shoulders and the ridiculous cotton jacket she wore.

It was an invitation, if ever he had seen one. Loki threaded his fingers through the curls and pulled her in for a kiss, moaning as he tasted sharp teeth and the unmistakable flavor of her tongue. She seemed to lose herself as well, winding both arms around his neck and stepping between his thighs to deepen the kiss.

All too quickly she broke away. "Loki, I can't."

Laughing and crying at once, Loki bent and nuzzled her neck. "I can't either. I'm going to disgrace myself in a moment, since I've wanted you for so long. We're going to have to lay together several times, huntress, so you don't think I'm a foolish boy instead of a dignified prince who fancies himself a scholar."

He tried to kiss her again, but her arms were muscled enough to fend him off. "I'm not a virgin," she declared baldly.

"Good. Neither am I. Besides, virginity is truly overrated. Are you supposed to come to life at the first touch of this?" As he spoke he ground against her, desperate for friction on his rearing, aching prick.

"You know what happened to me in the past."

"I…" He forced himself to breathe slowly. "I do know. And if you want to wait, we will. Or we can just be together and never touch each other, except I think you want me just as badly as I want you." He moved against the soft flesh between her legs, and Natasha's eyes widened.

"What she said about me was true." The whisper was tinged with lust and sadness.

Loki darted his head back in surprise. "Who? Who said what?"

"It was in the chapel, the temple. Lorelei accused me of being barren – unable to have children, you know."

"Thank you, I know what 'barren' means." Loki felt they stood at the top of a huge cliff about to dive off into the icy depths. What he said next would be the most important words of his life, and he strived for the right way to put it. "Natasha, I don't see you for what you might produce. It's what you are at this moment that's so important."

"You say this now, but when Thor and Sif have several children you'll feel differently." Her eyes were sea glass under a rogue wave curling over his boots.

"Huntress." Loki pushed the crimson strands back from her face and summoned the last tendrils of wits he had left. "Perhaps there are other children like you right now – girls who are held in houses they can't escape, where the very adults charged to take care of them steal their innocence instead. If you decide you want to raise a child with me, we could rescue one of them and have her for our own." A silver drop trembled on her lashes, and he bent slowly to taste it with his tongue. "Or you might decide you'd rather build a safe house for them all, a place where they can run in bright gardens and learn profitable trades such as hunting, if you can imagine such a thing! But of course," he added, "you probably should agree to marry me first."

Her jaw dropped as she sucked in a huge gulp of air. It was as though Natasha had been brought to the surface of the sea and was able to breathe again. "Do you mean this?"

Trying to repress a triumphant grin, Loki got on one knee and held both her hands in his. "As Queen Frigga is my witness, I do."

"And the healers?"

"With you at my side we will dispatch those vultures as well."

Her overflowing eyes twinkled with mischief, and Natasha tugged him back to his feet. "Don't get sappy." She looked back at the ruin of her house and sighed. "Where can we go? Lorelei's guards destroyed everything, even the lawn robe my mother left me."

"Did they find your tree house?"

"No, they didn't."

"Aha." With a sudden motion, Loki swept her up into his arms and began to stride through the snow. "We shall go there, then."

* * *

They landed on the old platform in a tangle of limbs. Natasha laughed and told him to be careful so the place wouldn't fall in a cascade of old wood, but Loki cut her off with a firm kiss and pressed her against the floorboards. He felt his heart thunder in his chest as she evaded his arms to pull out her blankets of the chest she kept there. Without waiting for her to spread the quilt, he possessed her mouth again and pulled off his embroidered coat. It would make a perfect bed for them.

Natasha squeaked as he got her onto her back and threaded free the buttons of her shirt. How well he remembered those buttonholes, so ancient they slipped easily to reveal a wash-worn bodice and young breasts. A groan escaped his mouth as he covered one soft peak with a trembling palm. She echoed the sound, and he felt her legs capture his waist, pressing him closer.

"Let me just…" Loki fumbled with his breeches, but she knocked his hands away.

"I'll do it. Clothes are so boring sometimes, aren't they? Could you imagine doing this with one of those dresses I had to wear?"

"I can indeed imagine such a thing," he began, but his throat closed as she scraped the breeches down his thighs with her feet. There was a hum of approval in her throat when she wriggled down to feel he wore nothing else underneath – Loki had dressed in great haste to go and find her.

"Now me." Natasha arched up as he tore off her shirt and the old bodice, interspersing his efforts with desperate kisses. Her lips were plump under his, a delicious sweetmeat. Her neck, a long line of enchantment. Her nose, tip-tilted with humor, and of course the deep intelligence of her eyes. His huntress watched every motion, intent on what he did to her. Loki wanted to see her as well, to kiss and lick and gaze.

"I may just expire if Thor comes calling for us through the woods at this moment," he whispered into the curve of her ear. A flurry of giggles made her breasts slide delightfully against his chest. Desire came over him in a rush, so madly he knew he would spend as soon as he slid inside.

To put it off Loki spread his palm against her chest and kissed over the soft swell of her belly, the taut dip of navel, crisp crimson curls at her cleft. There he parted them with his tongue, felt her thighs open as well as he kissed and suckled the soft flesh. His huntress got up on her elbows, obviously curious. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Shhh. I want to taste you." Loki sank down to lick a long stripe up the swollen pink of her, to write his name there with his tongue. She was his, after all – hard-won and glorious, and she deserved the best of him. Firm and slow he was, intent on giving her complete pleasure.

"Oh." Natasha flung her head back, curled her shins around his scalp, rotated her ass to bring herself off. He could feel it, the slow rush of fluid as her excitement mounted and she moaned, cried, forgetting all words except Yes and his name, Loki. Something inside fluttered, and he edged her once, twice, before allowing her the final spending in his mouth.

When she had settled down, Loki swiped his face on the sleeve of his shirt and crawled up to face her. "I'm going to taste like you," he said gently before kissing her. It was impossible to hold back a shout of surprise when she opened to him, sucking her juice from his lips and teeth as though she, like him, wanted every scrap.

The kiss lined up his body to the wetness that was the core of her, the center of Natasha. "I'm ready. Give it to me," she ordered. "It's time, Loki."

Little whimpers and huffs of breath escaped him as his tip touched her spread lips down there and slipped inside as slowly as he could manage. Somehow Natasha tightened her lovely slit, making little shocks go straight to his spine and the soles of his feet. A terrible shudder rent his body, and he sighed with impatience at himself.

"We – are – going – to – do – it – again…" Natasha whispered between kisses and canting her hips.

At those words a howl fled his throat. Loki crushed her to him with arms, tongue, lips, and cock, as the hot seed flowed out of him and rushed inside, the part of her that was damaged and so perfect, both at once.

* * *

Natasha awoke to the unfamiliar greeting of lips and teeth on her neck, smooth flesh against her skin in an electric embrace. "We should head back to the palace," she protested.

Firmly Loki pressed her back among the pillows. "Our job as lovers is to seize each moment." His words ended with a susurration of desire when she submitted, opened her thighs to him, and scraped his back with her nails.

"Very well, but I shall be doubly wild in that case."

"I like it –  _if_  you can escape my trap." Loki turned her over to lie face down on the old floorboards of the treehouse, and she shivered as his tongue flickered over the column of her spine.

"Trap!" Natasha skewed her legs backwards, got them around his waist, and spun them so she sat on his hips, Loki underneath her – a long, delicious seat indeed. "You dare to speak so to a huntress?" She knew her eyes sparkled with mischief. Each breath was a flame in her throat.

"I do." Luxuriating, he slid his fingers over her thighs and waist to cup her breasts, thumb the upright nipples. "I am no mere vapid prince intent on my robes of state and collection of coronets. Last year I took the prize at the jousting feasts, I'll have you know."

"Jousts," she scoffed. "What good are they in a hunt? Any fool in armor trundling towards his prey with a great long pole would frighten it off before he saw if the hide bore spots or stripes. And beyond that, I wager I could take your spear myself in one thrust." Natasha ground against the hard part of him, delighting in the feeling of his obvious lust for her.

"In that case I may have to concede." Loki laughed. At the sight of his merriment after all the terrible tragedies they had suffered together Natasha nearly collapsed on top of him and confessed how he had eclipsed her world in the span of a few days. No, rather a few moments, for everything had blossomed when she first encountered him in the side room at the castle.

His face grew serious, and carefully he tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "And now what are your thoughts?"

Not wanting to reveal them, Natasha cast for something to say. "I was just remembering Astrid's message. You were asleep when I delivered it."

"Mm." It seemed he was unable to keep his hands off her as he searched for the most tender places – the soft place on the side of her neck, the taut skin of her thighs, the sweep of her eyebrows. "And what was this message?"

Natasha bent and kissed Loki's cheek. "This."

Instantly he locked his arms around her neck to hold her to him, bringing her close enough to feel his lashes on her cheek. Such green eyes he had! A maid could fall into their depths and drown. "And what message would  _you_  send me?" he asked. Natasha hesitated, not wanting to reveal any more than she had already, but her wits fled as he arched his hardness against her slick heat. "Tell me," he insisted in a half-whisper.

She kissed his lips as his mouth moved against hers. He confessed he didn't deserve her, she was too good for him, he was a wastrel and villain, but for pity's sake she had to put him out of his misery… And with a tiny sob Natasha whispered words of love, that he held her heart as surely as if she had cut it out and put it in a casket, and two hot drops spilled from her eyelids. Loki licked them from her cheeks as he fit himself inside her with one lovely twist.

Mouth to mouth, belly to belly, they cantered together into a new morning.

* * *

**EPILOGUE**

And now we leave the little treehouse to flow forward through time and northwest in space to another setting. It is a rather large house on the edge of Asgard. There is a squire who lives there with a young girl. Her name is Else, perhaps, or Jillianne, and she lives in constant fear.

The squire says she owes him for her food and board, and he has told her several times he intends to collect on that debt soon. His hot eyes and wayward hands make it plain what coin he wants in return.

Else or Jillian hides in the corner of the room, making herself as small as possible so she won't sob aloud. Any noise will give away her existence and make the squire notice her.

The door is thrust open suddenly, and the squire looks up with a growl. Else looks up as well, and the sodden fear in her chest turns to amazement.

Two beings stand there, as lovely as the fairies she dreams of at night. It is as thought her wishes have come true. One is a woman in fine kidskin breeches, a bow slung over her shoulder and a knife at her hip. Beside her stands a man with long black hair tumbling over a neck as white as snow, holding a striped cat in his arms.

"What is the meaning of this intrusion?" the squire demands.

"I am Prince Loki of Asgard, and this is Natasha, the Huntress of Milkwood Forest. We are here to take the girl to safety – far from this house and from you." The man speaks with complete arrogance, his chin tilting up as he makes an end of any argument the squire might try. Indeed, the man is reduced to stammering amazement.

Natasha comes forward slowly, kneels in front of Else, and holds out both hands. The beauty of her fiery hair is blinding as she smiles at the girl, who trembles behind a straight chair. "Hello," the huntress of Milkwood Forest says in a clear, clever voice. "Dear one, your torture has come to an end. Would you like to leave this place and come with us?"

**END**


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